Options One, Two and Three
by Apprentice08
Summary: My version one and two of the aftermath of that telephone call. A little bit Angsty, a little bit funny, a little but smutty, all the good stuff. Version one posted now, version two soon to follow. All roads lead to Sherlolly. No synops as its hard to do it for two essentially though it is this, honesty maybe the best policy but the truth will set you free.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: Just in case any of my readers from non-sherlock stories are checking this out, I know I'm falling behind on my Harry Potter story, but I am absolutely suffering writer's block, this is my second attempt to work it out, Sherlock always helps me work out my ever cramping hands.**

 **For those purely here for Sherlolly goodness, a lot of people have been doing the "after meeting" of Sherlock and Molly at the end of season four since our lovely writers, producers, creators and such didn't think it was relevant to show us the make up, this is my farfetched Angsty somewhat fluffy, very smutty version...in fact…..there are two versions here, LIGHTLY edited so all mistakes are mine and I apologize. I tried to keep them in character but you all know how artistic license is….**

 **Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you thought of this.**

 **Version One**

 **The Jellyfish**

He has been sitting on the bench for most of the previous night, recalling memories of the last time he was here and how he could have missed the obvious. Trying to sort out the actual memories from his drug induced nightmares. The sun is well on its way into the sky. The early morning hours having passed with a timid ease and the slow rising din of a waking city greeting those troubled few who were out before anyone else.

He has smoked a pack and a half at this point, thanks to a very annoyed Billy, who did not appreciate a one a.m. text while he was trying to get off with a local bar crawler. A small pile of burnt out stubs has collected by his feet and little remorse is shown as he pulls out yet another and lights it, taking a slow drag and then following it with a sip of cold coffee. It is bitter and he is dissatisfied with it but he refuses to leave his perch, refuses to move as he isn't done thinking.

He has been in and out of his mind palace most of the night, completely oblivious to passers by and their drunken cries, though he does recall bumming a smoke to a young girl who he had told to go home. Her parents were worried and the boy she was about to run off with was just using her for a ride and would quickly ditch her for the girl he was actually trying to get to.

Upset but grateful, the girl had bestowed upon him a gentle kiss to his cheek, his mind, which had expected a slap instead, had shifted instantly away from ghosts of his past to another issue entirely.

Three days ago, that's how long it had been since the incident with his sister.

Three days worth of paperwork, phone calls, the endless red tape and coverups and the brutal scrutiny of his brother by the very few that were higher up on the food chain than him. Sherlock could count on one hand, actually with two fingers, those that were placed on the inquiry board to figure out what the bloody hell had happened, how it had happened and what needed to be done to rectify the mistakes that had been made and to keep it from happening again.

Sherlock has never doubted his brother's position, this would be the first time Mycroft's decisions had ever been questioned. Despite his cool demeanor, Mycroft had been worried, yet it seemed he would be alright as the British Government, namely the two people that still retaining more power than the eldest Holmes sibling, were in no hurry to remove the highly intelligent man, despite his massive error in judgment.

Still, even after everything that has happened, Sherlock can not bring himself to hate the man. In fact, truth be told, he never has truly hated his brother. Only the man's clucking, intrusive and controlling behavior.

Finding out he had a sister he had forgotten, that at one point in his life very early on he had had an actual friend….a friend who had died….it put his life...his very existence...his habits….his personality and his loyalty to friends and family in a whole new light.

He plans to visit his sister as soon as he can, take his parents to see her and right the wrongs that have been done to a seriously hurt and confused woman. For all Eurus's cleverness, her intelligence….her sadistic tendencies….she was just a child locked in a body and Sherlock was not going to just leave it alone.

He promised he would help her, be there for her, and he plans to keep his promise. No matter the cost, the time it may take, he has to do what is right. Long before the game had been over he had decided he was going to be a good brother and do everything he could for her.

All of this intricate family business aside, there were a few other things that seemed to be weighing on his mind as well, things that kept nagging at his conscious mind even as he tried to fight them away. The most prominent being a one, Molly Hooper.

Molly is a part of his family, though he knows she doesn't often feel as such, she is an integral part of his life, a very close friend. Someone, like John, who can understand his rather rude and often eccentric personality traits. She has remained loyal, caring, considerate and unbelievably kind over the years.

His debts to her might even be greater than the ones he owes to his brother, a scary thought for sure. Yet, as he sits on his bench, remembering the feeling of his sister sitting next to him dressed up and playing the role of another woman, he finds his mind continually rushing back to the issue of Molly Hooper.

He has yet to see her and she has not called. As far as he is aware Mycroft had reached out to her, showed her the recordings from Sherrinford and had left with little else to report. Molly said she needed time, and that was the extent to which Mycroft could report.

Sherlock is expecting to have to wait a few weeks, and it makes him nervous, though there are plenty of things to occupy his time.

 _Baker Street needs mending, Mrs. Hudson needs to be debriefed (as silly as that may sound) she has been away through this entire endeavour since the explosion staying with her sister and has yet to be brought back into the fold. Mycroft's issues and those with my parents are mostly sorted but I promised them a visit sometime this week, oh, how my insides crawled at the idea… the amount of sentiment that is about to befall you via mummy's near broken heart, will be very trying on my thinning patients_.

Sherlock sighs, lights another cigarette and feels his throat protest at the long drag he takes.

 _Then there is the matter of John and little Rosamund, their safety and privacy in the aftermath of it all and the living arrangements…. John has offered up his spare room until Baker Street is righted. It is a kind but expected gesture though not without its own selfish reasoning. John seems to be a little too interested in how I am adjusting, on how my mind is regulating, far more than he ever has before. He isn't a psychologist, yet, he has started asking far more questions about my mind palace, how it works and the inevitable side effects this case has had on me._

It is almost unnerving as John has always been quick to simply accept Sherlock's abilities and ask few questions, now he was trying to peer behind the curtains and Sherlock does not know if he is glad for it or annoyed.

So here he sits, chain smoking, thinking and trying to refocus himself. Molly Hooper and the other's swimming in and out of his main line of focus. A cacophony of noises, memories, words and actions blaring to life and nearly making him go deaf. He shakes his head to try and clear away the rubbish.

 _I love you...you say it, you say it first….don't...I can't say that to you...it's true, Sherlock...it's always been true….always…_

He feels such a sharp pain in his chest and grits his teeth as he rubs an eye with the heel of his hand, crunching his brow together and hissing out in frustration.

But again, he hears it, that defeated, anguish filled whisper, _I love you-_

"For Christ's sake!" he growls out as he hunches down lower in his seat, feels his back twinge and spasm at the sudden onslaught of feelings and memories that make him cower and shake. He has to make this stop, he dives in deeper to his mind.

Not long after the morning rush hour Sherlock senses a presence approach and he holds out a cigarette, his eyes still closed, as he waits for the person to take it.

"Low tar? Bit light for you, isn't it?" comes the familiar voice of his brother.

"Of course." Sherlock responds, nonplussed, and he smirks, "I had a feeling you would be the one to track me down, not that I am hiding of course."

"Of course not." Mycroft says as he takes the cigarette.

Sherlock is quick to offer a light and places the black object perfectly between them on the bench next to his pack.

"A bit assumptive isn't it?" Mycroft says as he takes a deep drag, the smoke billowing out and catching on the light breeze.

"Hardly. You've just come out of rush hour, a break during the inquisition, and mummy is still calling you, I figure at least one more if not two and I am only willing to light so many for you."

"Charming."

Sherlock doesn't respond as his eyes remain closed and he continues to try to sort out his mind into something he can actually utilize.

"How...how are you?" Mycroft asks awkwardly after a lengthy silence.

"Small talk, really? Oh no brother dear, that won't do." Sherlock says in a low voice, his hand flying in front of his face to swipe at some imaginary thing he wishes to dismiss all too quickly.

"It is not small talk, it is what normal people do." the older man says snappily.

"We aren't normal people-"

"No. But we are family." that statement is enough to draw the younger out of his mind. He looks to his brother with a puzzled expression, his eyes scanning over the man next to him, taking in his fatigue, his worry….the utter stench of hidden sentiment. Sherlock feels a longing in his chest, a warm wash of affection mixed with nostalgia and he looks away angrily.

"You're joking." Sherlock offers with disbelief, trying to hide his own issues subtly beneath the surface, his discomfort is evident though and Mycroft can see it.

"Afraid not brother mine, despite my many stories in our youth you were not adopted and therefore I do worry. Your excursion to this particular spot aside, I know you have been having troubles….I do wonder….can I help?"

Sherlock feels the anxiety in his stomach and he tries to swallow it down, tries to calm his thoughts and feelings but ever since Sherrinford he has been having trouble regulating. His well crafted walls trembling in the wake of his sister's mind games. She had wanted to experience and understand emotions and sentiment, attachments...love….she understands now….but has left him weak and vulnerable.

She had wanted to dissect him, to see him, and the only way to do that was to unhinged him. After everything, Sherlock has found a block in the way, a barricade that seems to be keeping his original wall from closing. His emotions are surging through and then violently retracting, he feels uneasy, anxious and scared.

This sudden onslaught and then instant retraction overwhelmed him but repeated over and over, sentiment and feelings building up in his chest, his logic and ability to remain cold and detached suffocating under years and years of suppressed emotions, memories and feelings.

He has been working to fight it back, remove the new barricades that his sister has placed and return his walls to proper working order, keeping his sentimentality under control. Try as he might though, he feels his emotions starting to truly struggle against his active desires to squash them, his normal control slipping over and over again like sand through a sieve.

"I am fine." Sherlock replies stubbornly and Mycroft just stares at him with that all too familiar quizzical stare, not believing him, not wanting to listen.

"Come now Sherlock, I have been dealing with our sister for years. It takes a very strong mind to resist her rather violent and intrusive suggestions. You think you can resist her reprogramming...not to say your are stupid...but you are...well….stupid….comparatively."

"Ta, brother dear." Sherlock sneers as he rolls his eyes, knowing his brother is only being his usual blunt self and not actually trying to be a prick.

"What I mean to say is...I am used to it...she is the reason I have been able to become so…" and Mycroft trails off and glances at Sherlock regrettably before he clears his throat, "Practice makes perfect." He says softly before taking another cigarette from the pack and lighting it himself, the image of Mycroft holding a Bic to light a cigarette is so strange to Sherlock he can't help but smile a shade.

"I can help you realign your mind, remove any blockade or bar she has managed to place for her own benefit. Return you to as you were, I could tell as soon as it was all over your emotions were back in play, well, more than they had been after previous cases, and that includes the affair with Magnusson. I heard you even called the Detective Inspector by his actual name."

"Sentiment." Sherlock murmured irritably as he near violently ran his fingers through his hair.

Mycroft notices his brother's frustration and tries to bolster his attitude, "It isn't easy Sherlock, it took me years to help you get to where you were, I can help you rebuild your mind palace and remove any blockades our sister has placed but-"

"I am FINE, Mycroft." and it seems as if his word is final. He hopes the shrug from his elder brother is the end of it. He wants to deal with this on his own, it is, in a way, embarrassing though he knows it shouldn't be. He did not have this problem with Moriarty, or after the Magnussen case, though his sister is a different beast entirely, he is resolute in his decision to figure out how to handle his situation on his own.

"Sherlock, why must you always be so difficult?" and Sherlock let's out a frustrated growl and eye roll as he realizes this discussion is far from over.

"Why do you always feel like you must face your demons alone?" and Mycroft sounds put-upon though Sherlock knows better. The man simply wishes to help, and he is frustrated that Sherlock is refusing. Always the mother hen, always trying to protect him and make sure he is taken care of.

"I will deal with it on my own, alone is safe, alone protects me-"

"Friends protect you, family protects you. Repeating mantras from our youth is just a desperate grab for control. It worked for us then, it will not work now. We are getting older brother mine, you cannot play pirates anymore, at least not on your own. You need support...I- we both do. Not to say we should open up to the world, we've tried that and it doesn't work. You have found a small group of special people who understand...do not turn away from them now. I won't be here forever, neither will our parents-"

"Alone is better. No one has to deal with it if I do it alone, it's a burden to expect-"

"As far as I can deduce, which you know is quite a bit, your friends do not mind the burden. I dare say, you yourself have taken on quite a few on their behalf in order to keep them safe and protected. When is it your turn?"

"Alone protects them." He says again, not realizing the Freudian slip until it is too late, by the time he catches it Mycroft is already giving that smug smirk and Sherlock is near seething in resentment, his emotions traveling along a path he has little experience walking.

"So the truth comes out. It was hardly hidden anyway. You always like to play the martyr don't you. Well, take it from someone who knows, you aren't protecting anyone by doing this alone. I would think our sister's little science experiment would have taught you that. Traumatic experiences aside, it is time for you to put more faith in others, and stop putting all of it in yourself."

"So saith the ice man."

"So saith the man who has chosen to be alone his entire life….and is much poorer for it."

Sherlock looks to him then and to his surprise he sees the barest hint of regret in those sharp reptilian eyes. The clever king hidden under years of loneliness and secrets, never giving anyone a chance, never caring to try because he has always had Sherlock and as far as the younger man can tell, that has always been enough for him.

"You love me." Sherlock says with certainty and a mild amount of fake disgust.

"I do." The man says with such resolute honesty, "More than you will ever realize. You are my blood, my brother….petty rivalry and family feuding aside, I only want your happiness Sherlock. Why ever would I put up with all your….habits and personal tendencies if I didn't."

"Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock quotes softly.

"No. It is not. But that is the chance we take with those who matter the most to us." and Sherlock has never heard his brother breath so much sentiment in such a short time. This moment between them, while awkward and uncomfortable, is filled with more brotherly affection than they have ever shared before and this new part of Sherlock that has broken free from it's cage actually finds a sort of strange comfort and fondness peeking out from behind a once locked door.

"John has Rosie to look after. I cannot expect him to put me before his daughter, and Hudders is absolutely too talkative to get any real aid from. Greg is a poor choice as well, for all his real world experience...he is rubbish with emotions and his workload keeps him busy…"

"All just excuses to escape the inevitable brother dear. If you do not wish to share such burdens with me, Dr. watson, Mrs. Hudson or the the Detective Inspector, that leaves only one."

Sherlock stares at him a moment and then looks away, "Absolutely not." He says sharply, digging his nails into his knees as he turns his head to look off. He feels a rush of anxiety and excitement flood his belly and he winces at the very notion such a response represents.

"I am not stupid Sherlock, Miss. Hooper is the only viable option. You know she will help, why not just-"

"I do not deserve her help. I do not deserve anything from her. She does not wish to see me anyway, you said so yourself. She needs time. It is the least I can do considering…" and he trails off because that voice returns, _I can't...I can't say that to you...you know why...because it's true Sherlock...it's always been true….I love you._

He stands violently and shakes his head, gritting his teeth and growling as he starts to pace.

"All this time, all this damn bloody time and I never knew! Thought it was just a phase, rubbish, it would pass, it wasn't real, it always passes once you open your mouth, the world's only consulting detective and I didn't see it? Couldn't? Wouldn't? Some great detective….so many years and I missed it...missed it...I always miss something…"

"Sherlock, do be a good fellow and settle down, you're scaring off the animals." Sherlock turns sharply to sneer at his brother with heated eyes and a frown, he looks to see a squirrel scurry off under a bench further down and he sees birds flutter away nervously.

He comes back to the bench, sits with a huff and lights another smoke, "Damn animal lover." He murmurs.

"They _were_ here first, long before modern man deigned to destroy the Earth. We should endeavour to leave them with something once we are all bones and dust." The older man sniffles haughtily.

"Join P.E.D.A if you are so concerned but leave me out of it you damned vulture-"

"Anger and fear do not suit you brother."

"Angry? Whose Angry?"

"You are."

"Says the man who nukes countries like mummy nukes her eggs-" the man's gruff voice hisses out.

"Stop this, Sherlock, now." and there is warning in that tone but Sherlock doesn't care, he feels the emotions swelling up and though this would be an excellent time to practice his control, to remember the exercises his brother had taught him so long ago, he stands up again and swirls to look at his brother, "And if I don't?"

Mycroft's half-lidded and thoroughly unphased eyes stare at him, his expression neutral, "Then you will get absolutely nothing done."

He hesitates before he stubbornly sits down again, leaning his head back and looking at the sky, "Gawd, I detested such tedious and unnecessary fluttering. Why won't you go bother someone else?" he nearly whines out.

"I have no one else Sherlock, save you, and don't think you are the only one to find this afternoon visit tedious and annoying."

"Then why are you here?" Sherlock sings out with a challenging lift of his eyebrow, "You know why."

"Dull!" Sherlock spouts before sitting up to grab another smoke, "Let's make a mental note Mycroft, dealing with the emotional fall out of a turbulent and violent fight with your sister you never knew existed is exhausting. We shouldn't do it again."

"Always so difficult." Mycroft murmurs as he looks away, his fingers twitching atop their post on the wooden umbrella handle.

"Your twitching. Have another." comes Sherlock's assumptive chirp and he extends the pack to his brother with a devious smile.

"Stop avoiding me and listen-"

"No, I think I'm through with listening Mycroft. I'd much rather stare at the river and feel sorry for myself." his tone is sarcastic but he actions resolute as he stands and moves to the railing, leaning over to stare at the flowing water below.

"Pathetic." The man hisses with disgust.

Whipping around at the insult Sherlock's narrow eyes blaze with anger, an emotion he used to hide much better, "What? Me? You hide our sister away from the world for twenty years and don't tell a soul until it is far beyond to late, leave her in the hands of people she can easily manipulate, and I am the pathetic one?"

"You are pathetic because after everything you _have_ done in your life, including jumping off a building and faking your death, surviving a very serious gunshot wound from your best friends wife and killing yourself slowly with drugs only to be nearly suffocated by a serial killer, not to mention that fun little sojourn into the depths of hell with our sister, the great Sherlock Holmes can't manage to have a simple conversation about his feelings." Mycroft stares at him with equally narrow eyes and waits, it is a challenge but all Sherlock can do is shrug, "So says the ice man."

"I don't share my feelings Sherlock, not because I don't have them, but because I don't need to. You on the other hand or drowning, quickly, I only hope you allow someone to save you before it is too late." Mycroft stands then, straightens his coat and proceeds to start walking.

Sherlock stars after him, his eyes stressed and face reluctant before he finally lets loose a growl and calls out, "I am on the losing side."

"Beg pardon?" the man questions lightly as he stops and turns to look at him.

"You once told me sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side...well I am losing...badly."

Mycroft seemed to digest this a moment before he clears his throat and offers a correction, "I said love….love is a chemical defect-" and Mycroft still stares in what most people would call his version of surprise, his back arches back a little and his lips frown, the half lidded gaze so frustrating Sherlock looks down and away, a sign of shame and guilt that often goes unnoticed by those closest to him.

 _Accept with her, she always notices, always sees me._

The silence is harsh but finally the elder Holmes cocks his head to the side and muses, "Miss. Hooper then." It is a statement and Sherlock gives a very subtle jerk of his head in acknowledgment , "Is it that-"

"Obvious? Yes. Though, I must admit the coffin fiasco was quite telling." and the superior smirk on the older man's face makes Sherlock sneer and look away again.

"Have no fear, I don't plan to gloat." Mycroft says casually, "You always were so emotional as a child...so loving and….clingy…. The only thing you need to ask yourself is if it is worth it. Telling her, after all the effort you've spent keeping her away, trying to keep her safe and unaffected yet still retaining the ability to have her close….it's a difficult balance between you and her. Why ruin a good thing?"

"I've already ruined it, or don't you remember the phone call where I obliterated her last shred of dignity."

"All things considered I think Miss. Hooper gained more dignity than lost it, or don't you recall her ordering you to say it first." .

Sherlock couldn't help the small smirk that came to his face at the memory of Molly's adoringly brave backhand, "She was strong...wasn't she?" he marveled.

"Very, and in the end, she came through once again, as Miss. Hooper always does."

The silence this time was one of reverence, both men giving a silent salute to the ever determined Molly to rise above it all.

"I can say that it would suit _you_ to have a Jellyfish. And mummy would be so happy."

"A what?" Sherlock asks with a raised brow and bemused expression, "Well you can't really call your lover a goldfish, rather unbecoming. It's well documented that the sting of a Jellyfish feels like a thousand little spears, all of which release a poison that damages the skin and burns something awful, some of them even glow near neon in color….tentacles up to eight feet long…some longer-"

"Your _point_!" Sherlock barks, not at all liking this metaphor.

Mycroft smirks again, tossing the butt of a third cigarette that Sherlock had not noticed the man having, more annoyance fills his chest at the very idea, "What better to start the heart of Sherlock Holmes than eight feet of poisonous neon tentacle? It's really rather perfect."

Sherlock thinks his brother must be high, thinks Mycroft is crazy and doesn't actually realize what he just said is the biggest load of utter rubbish he has ever heard when suddenly the man chuckles, "By the way Sherlock, I said love was found on the losing side….but I never said I was a winner. Call me if you need anything, and don't talk to mummy about me, she's rather upset with me just now, wouldn't want you to get caught in the cross hairs."

As the man leaves Sherlock calls after him, "That's all you've got? The world's worst metaphor and a warning to not piss off mummy? What about Molly?"

"Tell her or don't, I won't stop you...but you better do it soon...or you will lose the nerve to do so. However, I would keep in mind your job description, make sure this is really what you want. With no offense intended you would do right to remember Mary. Your's is a very dangerous lot in life. Take care." The man calls back even though he keeps strolling, his voice growing more faint as the distance increased.

Sherlock thinks about that last comment long and hard, realizing there is more to consider and despite his desire to keep this to himself, he must seek other opinions. He must do something that he has avoided most of his life, he needs a man date.

PAGEBREAK

"Greg? What are you doing here?" John Watson's curious gaze lands on the salt and pepper hair and unmistakable duster of the D.I. the older man looking just as confused as John feels.

"I could ask you the same question but you know the answer."

"Sherlock." both men say in unison.

"Bit odd isn't It? Him wanting to meet us here? Both of us, I mean." Greg says looking around the relatively empty street.

Both mean peer up at the sign above the door that reads, _The Boars Head Pub,_ and then back to each other, "Case?" John offers up.

"You would think so, accept I've got nothing on." Greg says with a shrug.

"Private case then. Maybe from Mycroft, Sherlock said something about a mandate, knowing Mycroft he's already shoved something off on Sherlock he would be better to do himself."

"You'd think after everything that's happened this past week those two would take a break."

John gives a skeptical look and Greg sighs, "Right. Well come on then, let's get this over with."

The two men enter and scan the room, Greg giving a light backhanded smack to John's arm and pointing when he locates Sherlock in the furthest back corner, sitting in a private booth and seemingly in his mind palace. A pint of untouched beer before him.

John shakes his head and sighs as he heads in that direction, Greg following right behind.

As the two men slide into the booth Sherlock does not respond, instead he continues to sit before them, as if they are not even there. The annoyingly familiar "thinking pose" that everyone in the famous detectives extended family is aware of, shows the two men Sherlock could leave them waiting a long time.

The two decide to order a couple pints and talk softly amongst themselves while they wait. Twenty minutes later John checks his watch and decides enough is enough.

"Sherlock, hey, mate….wake up…" and he snaps his fingers in front of the man's face and surprisingly it seems to work, though the sudden jolt from the man and a sharp intake of breath surprise the two as their friend looks thoroughly startled.

"Blimey, you okay?" Greg asks as he gives a confused smirk at the man.

Sherlock seems to come more clearly into his right mind and glances at them and then away as his cheeks turn a light pink.

"Yes. Yes, absolutely fine, just...having problems with my- never mind...thank you for coming."

"Hold on, no, what was that about?" John asks quickly, leaning forward giving his friend and curious yet knowing look.

"What was what?" and Sherlock seems evasive, more than keen to not draw attention to his little shock fit. But john knows better, he should, after all their years together.

"You've never done that before-"

"Done what?" Sherlock is getting defensive now and John narrows his eyes, "What you just did, jumping like that….it's new."

"No it's not, and it's also not why I called you two here."

John resigns himself not to argue as he has limited time to spare, Rosie is waiting for a pick up from the sitter and John can't be late again.

"What's this all about then?" Greg asks as he takes a drink, "Mycroft has some new mandate we are to follow? The man's crazy if he thinks-"

"What? No, not mandate...a man….date…"

"A what?" John asks thoroughly confused.

Sherlock pauses and then sighs, "A man date, when a bunch of men get together and talk over beers about their problems...though in truth I've come to notice they usually get too drunk to actually talk about their problems and just end up pissing in a back alley or-"

"Wait, you've asked us here….for advice?" and John is stunned, glancing to Greg and then back before realization seems to sink in and he leans further forward and asks softly, "Is this about Molly?"

Sherlock looks surprised, or perhaps take by surprise is a better way to explain it, his eyes looking everywhere but at the two of them and then they close again and he is gone back into his mind.

"Christ." John murmurs as he leans back and let's out a very heavy sigh, "Dear god, why now, why did this have to happen today?"

"What?" Greg asks curiously, his eyes betraying his guess but still he wants to confirm his suspicions.

"The coffin…" John winces out as he brings a hand to rub at his tired eyes, "The bloody coffin."

"Coffin? You mean the one he bashed up?"

"Yes, the one he bashed up. Much to forcefully, granted we were being tortured, treated no better than rats in an insane experiment, but I pegged it as frustration and nerves… as concern for Molly's well being…. I didn't think that he would...could….this is going to get messy."

Greg muses a moment and then glances to Sherlock and then back, "You think he loves her?"

John sits back, take a big swig from his glass and then slowly turns it round and round on the table as his eyes lock onto his quiet friend and his face melts into a resolute mask, "I'm gonna call the sitter, this could take a bit, excuse me."

Greg shuffles out of the booth so John can head outside to make the call, the Detective Inspector looking at Sherlock regrettably not sure he truly comprehends the severity of the situation.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock reemerges from his mind palace to find John and Greg talking softly, they both have an empty glass and a new full one before them and John glances at him before he turns his head and says, "You are in love with Molly Hooper."

Sherlock feels his anxiety spike but he reins it in quickly, he has to get back to himself, has to remain unaffected and calm.

He takes a breath and then says softly, "I don't know." he is sure he is, that is where his problem lies, why he needs clarification, but keeping that balance of uncertainty with John and Greg may give him more insight, "I need help...examining the evidence of my own concious …. I am having trouble regulating my mind, my thoughts and feelings…" it comes out more resentful than he wants it to, nevertheless he keeps talking as he looks down into his untouched glass of beer.

"I need to ask questions that may seem rather….rudimentary….but I don't understand certain things, so I am asking for your help."

"Blimey, this don't happen everyday does it." Greg says in surprise, he takes another swig and then bites his bottom lip before he asks awkwardly, "What questions...I mean...not like… personal questions righ'?"

Sherlock makes a face and rolls his eyes, "If you are referring to questions about sexuality do not worry, I am well versed….that is not the iss-"

"My god, really?" Greg asks giving him such a shocked look, John joining him as both men stared, "Just because I don't care for matters of the heart...for sentiment…. does not mean I haven't tried it…"

"When?" John asks, a doubtful smile curling onto his face.

Letting loose a very irritated sigh Sherlock slumps back and bites out in defense, "Honestly, why is it so hard to believe-"

"No, shut up. I am having a hard enough time believing you are even considering a relationship with someone at all, let alone that you have had them before...no I don't count Janine by the way….so for the sake of taking everything into full account, you should tell us about it." John said adamantly and Greg gave a silent cheers to that.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued, "Uni mostly...whenever I attended….most of the time I was...unaware but on several occasions I did retain-"

"While you were high." John says sharply.

Sherlock seems to catch the man's disapproval and gives one short nod to confirm before he says softly, "I need to know how to proceed. Is it….alright for me to pursue her after what has happened? Would I be selfish? Is it selfish? It is selfish...I shouldn't but I wish too...is that bad?"

Greg let's out a puff of air as his finally seems to realize why this is going to take some time, he glances to John and then says as he points, "Before this goes any further, you need to take a big ol' drink of that."

Sherlock looks to his beer and his brow drops down in confusion, "What? Why? I only purchased it to make the man date more authentic."

"First off, stop calling it a man date, it's bloody weird, and second, this…" and he motions to the beer, "is called liquid courage...now trust me on this, you are going to need it."

And John smirks as Greg pushes the beer towards Sherlock and says, "Drink up, Romeo."

PAGEBREAK

 _Molly feels a smile on her face as she gently hovers above London, the air is warm but humid, thick fogs rolling gently across the waterways and down the city streets as she gazes adoringly at her beloved home. Swooping down a little closer the lights of the city break through the fog and give the appearance of a night sky, the star like shine of the windows twinkling through the lazy cousins to the clouds._

 _She hasn't felt this good in days, the joy of being able to break away and be free from the suffocating atmosphere of life on the ground more than adequate to make up for her aching heart. Slowly, she leans back, now staring up at the real stars, floating gently in the air, an easy circle as her fingers rest laced together on her belly._

 _Flying is wonderful, she thinks, not wanting to come down, but she has to work tomorrow and unfortunately that means she may have to face her demons. She doesn't care for demons, they always seems to muck things up, but here, in this open space they can't reach her and she lets out a contented sigh and closes her eyes._

 _ **Molly…**_

 _Jerking up she looks around the open sky, but she is alone. Yet still, when she glances down to the foggy embankment of London, she sees the faintest of shadows moving about._

 _ **MOLLY HOOPER….**_

 _It is almost sung, the deep voice calling her down, back to her home on the ground, to the life that is slowly turning into an unwanted nightmare. Yet, despite her heart's desire to stay high above it all, her body slowly starts to sink and she gazes at the river's murky edge only to see another shadow move through the mist._

 _ **Come down Molly, I am waiting. Come to me…**_

 _It doesn't take long for her body to slowly sink into the rolling mists but her feet do not touch the sandy, muck covered shore. They remain tucked a foot above, not wanting to lose the last bit of flight she has, she isn't ready to land, to be normal again, she wants to remain special...for just awhile longer._

 _ **Who's there?**_ _She calls softly, fear and worry filling her chest as she slowly spins in the air, the imagine of the ballerina from her music box coming to mind._

 _ **Molly Hooper…**_

 _She jerks around and there behind her is the faded shadow, tall and lean, hand outstretched. She shoves back, curling in on herself protectively,_ _ **W-Who are you?**_

 _ **You know me, we are friends…**_

 _ **I don't know any shadows, only demons…**_

 _ **Come now Molly, you know me, we are friends…**_

 _And she does recognize the voice, but she doesn't want to admit it, for this is a demon in disguise, her biggest demon...the one which haunts her mind and soul, her very heart threaded with its inky uncaring tentacles._

 _ **Sherlock?**_ _She asks timidly, though she hasn't felt so timid around him in a long time._

 _ **That's my girl, see, I knew you would know me. We are friends...aren't we? Say it for me, would you?**_

 _ **Say what? Sherlock, I don't-**_

 _ **Take my hand.**_

 _And the shadowy demon holds it out, all black and lacking any detail. It's as if all traces of the human condition were removed from him. No color, no detail, no clothes...just the outline, filled in with that solid inky black, fading in and out, yet even so...those long musician fingers can be seen and slowly Molly extends a hand tentatively, uncertain._

 _ **Take my hand, Molly.**_

 _As soon as her fingers gently touch his palm that hands jerks forward and yanks her down, her feet sinking into the sandy sloppy muck, a cry of fear singing from her throat,_ _ **NO!**_

 _ **Molly...My Molly...so carefree and high above us all...but it's time to come down, to join us in the land of the living…**_ _the shadow mocks tenderly, he pulls her to him, her back pressing to the hot aura, hands held firmly onto black wrists, trying to pull away as that shadow presses a cheek to her own,_ _ **time to come home Molly, no more flying for you, say it for me, will you, say it for me please?**_

 _And a black fingers guides her chin up, her eyes scanning that black featureless face and instantly she calms, though her heart screams at her to not do it, to not say it, to not relive her worst nightmare._

 _ **Say it for me Molly, please...I won't laugh...I want to hear you say it...I want to hear how much you mean it…**_

 _That black hand ghosts down her face, cupping her jaw, an arm pulls her closer, tighter,_ _ **I meant it too, you know I did, deep down you know it...you heard it...I want to hear you say it again, say it and mean it… I will say it too…**_

 _ **You say it first…**_ _she whispers to the shadow, her brow starting to sweat from the heat and the tears in her eyes start to build. Her body is burning for this creature, yet she is terrified of what the ramifications could be. Still, she will always love him, always want him so she peers up with dark eyes and takes a breath._

 _S_ _ **ay it like you mean it…**_ _they say at the same time and that empty face gets closer to hers and as her lips part to speak she hears that familiar voice, that so Sherlockian bass rumble in her chest and they speak together._

 _ **I love you**_

 _PAGEBREAK_

Molly sits up in bed, her body covered in sweat, her head dizzy and spinning. Heavy breaths pant past her lips as she clenches her legs together and grits her teeth, the heat and wetness down there near unbearable.

"Shit." She whispers out as a lone tear falls down her face.

"You have to stop this." She urges to herself and she rubs fingers into her eyes to try and clear the sweat and sleep away.

Slowly she looks around her dark room and then sighs, reaching for the lamp to turn on the light. Every time she does this she half expects to find Sherlock sitting in the chair in the corner, in his mind palace or staring off into space. He's done it so many times she isn't surprised by it anymore.

She is alone though, and part of her is grateful. She needs more time, more time to process and mourn and deal with her humiliation.

It's only been a few days, still her dreams torment her as they did before, her thoughts are continually filled with him, even though he broke her, even though he had had no choice...she wishes she could hate him, but her heart is so enamored, so dedicated and loyal and...attached.

She has been asking the same question for years, why are you torturing yourself, why can't you move on? She remembers the answer every time he comes into the lab, every time he slings out an impressive deduction, every time he hurts her and she just loves him more.

"Masochist." She murmurs but she doesn't continue to sit there, she is still to shaken from that dream. Fear and terror mixed with lust, desire, devotion and love. Complete surrender, that is how her dreams end every time, even when she tries to resist him, she fails and wakes up wound tighter than a ball of string, aching, messy with want and angry at herself for letting this happen.

She leaves her bed and is heading towards her bathroom, her nightshirt grazing her knees as she turns on the bathroom light and sets her mind on a shower.

A knock on her front door stops her, shoulders slumping in defeat as she realizes that unless someone is dead, there is only one person who would knock on her door at three in the morning.

She pokes her head out into the dark hall, her fingers gripping the door jam tightly, the knock sounding again and her eyes grow sad as she thinks to herself, _I'm not ready._

At the sound of the third knock, which is slightly louder, she realizes it doesn't matter if she is or isn't, Sherlock apparently is and just like in her dreams, if he wants something, it's rare for her to deny him.

Not bothering with a robe as at this point she feels she has no dignity nor humility left to him, she simply heads for the front and tries desperately to brace herself for what is to come.

She hesitates with her hand on the knob, her left fingers pinching the dead bolt tightly before she takes a breath, unlocks her door and opens it just a crack.

"Hullo, Sherlock." She says quietly, her eyes looking to a button on his coat and not anywhere near those startlingly blue eyes.

"Molly." and her name is breathless, as if he has just ran to her, she feels her hand tighten on the knob and she still does not look up to him, "What do you want Sherlock?" It's softly asked, almost sounding desperate because at this moment she does not know what else she can give him.

There was a rift between them now, one she had caused. If she had just said it, said what he had asked her to say the first time he had asked all that drama, the heartache and pain, the anger could have been prevented.

But no, the one time Molly Hooper decided to stand up for herself and speak her mind, to lay all her dirty laundry out on the table was the one time she should have just rolled over and not asked questions. If she had just said it and hung up….things could be different, he could pretend again, that he didn't know she loved him, she could continue to admire him from afar.

Now, her feelings were not only on display for everyone else to see, but also for the one person who didn't want to see. She clenched her eyes tight and tried to keep her voice steady, "Sherlock, it is late….could you...could we do this another time… I can't...I need space to...please?" She nearly whins and she hates herself, hates everything about herself in that one pathetic request.

Her anger swells and she looks down, "Stupid." She hisses out and she feels heat rise to her cheeks and a tear roll down her face and she just wants to slam the door and ball up, she doesn't want to deal with this… absolute mess.

"Open the door Molly." comes his soft but stern tone and suddenly she feels defiant, her honey brown eyes finally glancing up to his contrasting ones with the heated anger she has been burying for days.

"No." She says almost instantly.

She sees the barest spark of something like desire in his eyes, but of course she knows it's just wishful thinking, though that hint of a smirk ghosting the corner of his mouth throws her off a bit. Still as she opens the door just a speck wider she maintains her own stern face, resolute and solid.

"Molly, open the door." and there is a warning in that beautiful voice, one that promises he will gain entry by other means, but she can be just as stubborn and she doesn't want to face him right now….cant handle him telling her his own truths, the truths she already knows.

Her body tightens and she braces a knee against the door opening it just a touch more, unaware how she is paving the way for her own defeat by being so careless.

"No. I won't… I'm not ready...I need….I need-" but she can't finish because despite her anger, she is also hurting and her voice fills with that thick sticky goop that proceeds tears and her vision blurs from those betraying ducts at the inner edges of her eyes and she sucks in a gasping breath and looks down to the ground.

 _I hate you..._ she says to herself, because she does, she hates everything that makes her Molly Hooper and she is so anger because she is the weakest link.

She is trying to calm down when she feels a soft warm hand come to her cheek, and her face is raised to look up at the representation of her most basic and complex desires, "What do you need?"

The tears continue to flow and she takes a breath before she tries one more time, "Please, just...don't do this...to...me."

In those eyes she doesn't see disdain or a mocking sarcasm, she doesn't see a frown or hard lines on his forehead. His eyes are soft and kind, lips just barely smiling as he leans down to softly say, "Open the door Molly Hooper."

She feels her body slump in submission as she looks into those eyes and she lets out a strangled little whine of protest but her hand pulls and her body shifts and she is opening the door as he steps through.

She shuts it softly and locks it out of habit, wrapping her arms protectively around herself as she stares again at her floor. She had loved this floor, that ancient reclaimed look always made her feel like her home was older, more lived in. She had been so happy the day after it was installed….the same day she had braved asking Sherlock to coffee.

 _Stupid…_

"Look at me Molly." and that soft bass pulls her from her thoughts, makes her face the demons she has been trying to avoid. Her eyes scan up his body, seeing that outfit that has always been one of the things that makes him Sherlock, stopping at that blue scarf for only a moment before she finally makes it to his face, that face which haunted her dreams and made her heart melt.

She sees a sadness in those eyes, not that she has never seen it before, she always sees him. But this time, it spikes a certain amount of reservation in her, he has never been sad for her before and it's unnerving.

"Sherlock-"

"I need you to listen to me...to hear me...I know that the last few days have been difficult for you...Mycroft told me that you needed space and time but I could not allow it. I need to speak with you now."

Molly simply continues to stare at him and wait, the sooner she lets him speak his mind the sooner he will leave and she can get back to trying to deal with the fall out her life has become.

"He showed you the tapes?" his eyes searching hers for recognition, for any visible reaction but Molly only nods and keeps her face neutral.

"Then you know why I had to do what I did, why I had to make you say...you understand what would have happened if I didn't?"

Molly closes her eyes and nods again, fighting to keep the tears away and remain strong, to keep her dignity, whatever shreds might be left, intact.

"I have a question for you then, and I must know the answer before we proceed. Please, tell me, do you still...do you still love me, after everything?" and his voice betrays nothing yet his eyes speak volumes.

Molly's insides go cold, her face finally giving an emotional response as her eyes grow wide with terror and her mouth rolls in on itself as she tries to keep from sobbing out in such unnecessary rage.

Sherlock watches her, his eyes scanning every inch of her face and taking in her gestures but Molly can't stand the idea of his deductions right now, not on her, not about this. She drops hers arms and instantly moves away, towards the sitting room where she aims to pass straight through and head to her room.

Halfway across she is stopped by a firm grip on her wrist and she turns to see Sherlock standing there, his face stone and eyes sharp and she wipes her face clean with her free hand and says in her own brand of warning, "Let me go, Sherlock."

"No." he says sharply, though his tone seems less sure of his actions, she can see that he knows he is crossing a line but it doesn't seem to stop him so she repeats herself, "Let. Me. Go."

"Not until you answer me." his determination is set and Molly's resolve to escape comes crumbling down, her knees shake and her face twists into such a pleading expression she knows he will think her weak, spineless and overly dramatic.

"Please let me go, don't do this to me...not again...please d-don't do it." why is she always left to beg him, why can't she ever just ask him for something and he do it? Why must he torture her like this, over and over, knowing how much it sodding hurts. She tries to yank her hand free but he does not release her so she jerks harder but to her utter horror he pulls her back towards him, an arm coming around her waist to pull her against him, his hand releasing her wrist to take up her jaw.

"Let me go!" she sobs as she tries to pull away, "As soon as you answer me…" and he leans in close, his lips inches from hers, "I promise I will let you go."

Molly feels herself calm down near instantly, Sherlock's eyes doing what they always do to her, and erasing all her thoughts. She always gets lost in those eyes, pulled into what it's and tantalizing fantasies, she can't help it, it's like he has brainwashed her and maybe he has, albeit unintentionally.

"I-" but she stops because another bout of sobs wrack her body she buries her face into his chest as she wishes he would just leave her alone, ignore her, he was so good at that for such a long time, why did he have to take up interest in her now?

But Sherlock seems content to let her ruin his coat with her tears and snot, holds her for quite awhile in fact. When Molly finally stills she braves a look up at him and her mouth parts slightly at the adoring gleam in his eyes. Then, he does something he has never done before, the tip of his nose graces across hers and then he leans closer, bringing those lips to run gently across her brow. Molly can't stop the soft gasp that escapes from her mouth and her fingers dig into his coat as her knees finally give out.

Sherlock doesn't hesitate to support her and she looks up into eyes that are bright and curious and the purest calm settles over the rest of her anxiety and she sighs and savours the way her lips caress his cheek as she whispers, "I love you, Sherlock."

He slowly turns his head, nuding hers gently so his eyes can lock gently with hers, "I love you too." he whispers and then he places his lips on hers and Molly is momentarily lost.

The kiss is like everything she has ever imagined, and yet, still better because it is actually happening. She wants it to last forever but near seconds into finally getting to taste him, to have this so intimate and romantic a moment with her long time one-sided love interest, her mind plays a cruel trick on her and before she can stop herself and just enjoy the moment her palm spread flat on his chest, her heel comes down on his toes and she is shoving away from him as he lets out a burst of pain filled noise and stumbles sideways.

"What are you doing!" she yells as her head spins and her body trembles.

Sherlock has sat on the edge of her coffee table and has removed his shoe and sock to look at his big toe, bending it to make sure there isn't a break. He winces as he says breathily, "Admitting my love for you, I thought, all things considered it could have gone better-"

Molly's face screws up in confusion and she stares at him as he continues to wiggle his toes and make faces of pain, "My love for you, I was admitting it…" he repeats again, "I was trying to embrace it….isn't that what people do? John said-"

"You aren't- you can't be seri- you are- you're lying!" Molly yells and Sherlock stills at this and looks up at her, his eyes once again taking in her every movement, her expression, almost as if he is trying to read her and figure out if she is testing him somehow, "I'm really rather serious Molly….I love-"

"Don't! Don't say it. I can't handle- you don't love me...not like I love you...you can't...you won't...you said-"

"I know what I've said Molly but given the circumstances of the last few days I have allotted for many new changes in my life and I was hoping you would be one of them."

Molly doesn't believe it, she wants too, so badly she wants to, but after eight YEARS of dismissals by this man, multiple times that he has sent very mixed messages and the most recent and gut wrenching phone call all she can think is that the great and mighty Sherlock Holmes feels guilty.

"I don't want your lies Sherlock, I don't want your pity. You did what you had to do to save my life and I am grateful but you doing anything to help me stops here. Right now. You don't have to pretend just to make me feel better….you dont-" and she stops because he stands abruptly and comes toward her, she steps back and rounds the back of the couch, keeping a safe distance between them.

"Listen to me, Molly, my Molly, I understand why you might...how you might misconstrue this as some attempt on my part to ease guilt or to try and make you feel better, but I wouldn't lie about something as serious as this-"

"Janine." She snaps quickly and Sherlock stops dead, looking at her with a scrunched up brow and a sudden bought of worry on his face, "That was for a case-"

"So was the phone call." and Molly knows she has him cornered. He cannot say either of her accusations aren't true, and suddenly Sherlock looks very worried indeed.

"Molly, I understand-"

"No you _don't_!" she yells, a near perfect imitation of John Watson on one of those "bad days" he often talks about, "You don't understand eight years worth of unrequited love, or knowing you are being manipulated via compliments but you let it happen anyway, or watching as you slip into the background because you're just not interesting enough! You don't understand how stupid and angry I feel, how utterly thrown over...and every time I try to move on...everytime….you come back…..and it comes back...that horrible crippling love I have for you….I'm obsessed with that feeling Sherlock, I've never had such a strong feeling for anyone….I am sick...but I know I could get better if you would just let me, please just let me...stop playing with me so I can get better...s-so things can go back to normal."

"Things can never go back to normal." Sherlock says darkly and he tries to approach her again but she moves away and asks with disappointment, "Why not?!"

"Because it's true Molly, everything I've said is true, I love you and damn it all if I am not just as confused and angry as you. I want to go back to how things were, I want my other life back...but I- I can't do it...because if I did that….I couldn't have you….sweet Molly Hooper….my Molly...right?" he asks with a weak chuckle and fingers that just barely graze her arm.

She moves quickly to stand by the coffee table now, her hands ringing the edge of her long worn out nightshirt, "But it...it has to go back to the way it was Sherlock...eight years...I've spent eight years wanting you… loving you...worrying about you...but...I- I've no idea how to...how to...be anything you might want….no clue how to actually be in love with you...god I'm sick...I need help… I need to be away from you."

She turns to rush down the hall to her room but Sherlock manages to get in front of her. Before she can stop her momentum his hands come up and firmly take her face, "Please, Molly...please just...dont panic...neither of us should panic...we have been forced into a situation that has made us compromise a lot...but thats...thats what love is right? Compromise? We can do that...yes? We have compromised for each other before."

"When? When have you ever compromised anything for me?" Molly asks.

"More times then you will probably ever be aware, and I would be more than willing to discuss each and everyone with you at a later time...but I suppose it is all just the semantics of love. That damn chemical defect, well I'm defective and I need you to believe me...I love you...and you love me...right?" and he kisses her forehead, and then her neck and her lips and goes to open his mouth and lay claim to her own when she turns her head ever so slightly and he must stop.

"I want to believe you, but I am not well, haven't been well when it comes to you. This is just indulgence, it is a bad idea. What happened...it makes people seek things they normally wouldn't…. What you've been through could make any person reach out and grasp for something solid to hold onto. I am just a shock blanket."

"Not all all, you are so much more. If this past week has done anything to me it's to make me see things far more clearly than I ever have. Besides, indulgence only represents giving into something you shouldn't because it's bad for you. You aren't an indulgence for me Molly, you represent all my good habits, and you haven't been trying to avoid me, you've been trying to avoid alienating me because you think I am either incapable or unable to reciprocate...you think I don't find you physically appealing, that you are not exciting enough to enchant me or win my favor. But I have something to tell you Molly Hooper-" and in a single motion he scoops her up into his arms and silences her squeak of surprise with a stubborn and solidly honest kiss, "You are very wrong about all of the above."

Molly can't believe this is happening, she can't, yet she feels her body reacting, her mind spinning with the dizzy signs of want, lust and the ever powerful drug called love. She is looking into the most sincere blue eyes she has ever seen, not noticing that he is carrying her down the hall as he continues to hold her gaze.

"Truth be told…" Sherlock murmurs, and Molly doesn't realize he has entered her room nor that he uses his foot to shut the door softly behind him, "I've no idea how to go about loving you either, but after everything, I have learned there is value in taking chances, in admitting you care, after all, I could die tomorrow and I would never know, would I." it's a statement and Molly is so lost in those cold blue eyes she simply responds with a soft, "Mh?"

"I'm glad to see I still hold some effect on you." Sherlock muses with a near adoring smirk.

"Would never know what?" Molly asks in a dazed voice as she leans her face closer to his.

"What you taste like." he says in a deep breathy voice and then he kisses her, deeply, hungrily and Molly Hooper suddenly realizes that not only is this really happening, but she is absolutely certain that come what may, she doesn't really give a damn.

PAGEBREAK

She is coated in sweat, chest heaving, breasts bouncing and Sherlock cannot get enough of the gasps and moans and begging pleas to continue his ministrations. His head has been between her thighs for nearly an hour, getting her close but never letting her tumble over. It's a wonderful new game, this, making Molly Hooper squirm, gasp and beg, and dear god does he love it.

His hands hold her hips firmly, as much to his delight, she has tried to shift away numerous times to escape his tongue with takes in her womanhood with a ravenous hunger. The very idea of holding her in place and subjecting her to such sensual and raw pleasure sparking a beast in his chest he had forgotten existed.

He hears the tears of utter ecstasy saturate her voice as her hands clench the bed sheets so tight her knuckles are white and her thighs are trying to close, to keep him from working her into even more of a mess, but he is stubborn and releases her hips only to grip onto her thighs and splay her legs open.

It is a miscalculation however, as the instant his hands release their vice like grip on her hips she rolls and Sherlock is forced to pull back. Still, he is not one to give in and quickly shifts up to lay behind her, gripping and arm around her and pulling those desperate hands away from her clit so that he may snake his a hand of his own down and continue his work.

She presses into him, tries to press away, her hips thrusting vigorously in an attempt to increase friction and get herself to the edge he has playfully denied her. He plans to visit his mind palace later, to watch this all over again and see if he can determine why he enjoys torturing her so but for now as she lets out another plea, he rests his chin on her bare shoulder and his cheek against her sweaty one, eyes closed and nose inhaling the pungent aroma of her burning need.

"Are you ready?" he asks in such a deep voice it nearly startled him.

"Yes, please, Sherlock please...let me-"

"Soon." He promises and she whines, his prick is hard, more than ready and despite the tortures she must be going through he himself is nearly gone with want and need.

They undressed long ago and he presses his length to her bum, rutting like a horny school boy and knowing he is about to finish her off despite his brain urging him to make her wait just a little longer. Still, he knows he has been too cruel and desires to move on quickly.

He pulls himself back, grabs her thigh and raises it, positioning himself at her entrance as his fingers still probe and stroke her bud near relentlessly.

"Ready to finish?" he asks brutally soft into her ear and Molly sobs out a frustrated yet excited confirmation and not even a second later he presses in fast and hard. She tips over and nearly yells as he slides all the way in, her slickened arousal making his first time entry near brutal as there is no resistance.

He feels her body clamp around him like a vice, over and over as she tumbles down but he doesn't wait. He is pulling out and pressing in just as fast, quickly rolling her onto her belly and pinning the small woman beneath him. He takes her mercilessly hard but she is all cries of joy and clenching slick hot muscles and he can't stop himself from a growl and a grunt in between thrusts, lost to his own needs and more than ready to finish right behind her.

When he comes, which at this point does not take long, he presses in what he fears is too deep but she takes his demanding thrusts happily and continues to encourage his selfish and rough intrusion into her body. Saying things that are most unholy and not at all what he would expect from little Molly Hooper.

His brain is absolutely quiet save for a word spinning like a vow through his mind and it glows white hot like a house ablaze, _MINE,_ and though he won't realize it until later he says as much through his trembling lips just before his teeth latch onto her shoulder and leave a bite so dark it will be obvious this beautiful goddess is spoken for, not to be touched by anyone else and he is very satisfied with the prospects that brings him.

He remains on top of her, kissing her shoulder and nuzzling into her hair long after he has finished, still inside her and no where near ready to be done but a quiet sigh from his new lover makes him come too and he reluctantly shifts off.

He pulls her closer and holds her, after all, that is what people do, right? He listens to her soft breathing, admires her tired and utterly spent body, takes in the smell of her hair and the feel of her next to him and he thinks, maybe, he could get used to it, to this chemical defect and all the new things it will bring.

Twenty minutes later Molly stirs and he gently kisses her cheek and then makes room so that she may roll to lay on her back. Still, he stays close, admiring his handy work in the way her cheeks still have a tinge of pink, her swollen lips pulling together for the shyest of smiles and the way her tussled hair frames her sharp yet beautiful face, "So, what now?" She asks softly, her eyes staring at him in such a way he feels his heart stutter a little.

He leans down, kisses her lips so softly and then says, "Now, we shower, and tomorrow...we work on the logistics."

Molly gives a small smile, "Hmm, not before we have another roll around I hope."

This time Sherlock smirks and he runs his hand up her side and grips firmly at the woman's ribs, "Why, Miss. Hooper, you've read my mind."

 **Version two will be posted when complete R AND R to let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here is version two. I am experimenting with P.O.V. so you may see switching back and forth, it is not a mistake. Lightly edited, all mistakes are mine, as always, I don't own this stuff. Thanks to Gatiss and them for an amazing playground!**

 **WARNINGS: LEMON LEMON LEMON, SOME VERY MILD DOMINATION AND DETAIL OF SEXUAL ACTS.**

 **Things got a little weird near the end, I don't know why it went the way it did but I guess all you can do is read and see for yourself.**

 **Enjoy, Apprentice08**

 **Begin Version Two**

 **Push me Pull me**

It is near the end of her shift when the eldest Holmes brother walks into the morgue. She has been here for near double the length of her normal shift to cover for Mena who had gone home with a bad case of the flu. Adding to this, the horrible bus accident not even two miles away, she has been swamped with autopsies and organizing the rest of the night shift to try and manage the overflow.

She is exhausted, testy and not at all wanting to deal with the snooty and condescending tone the man is sure to have. Her eyes dart up at his entry and instantly dart back down to her final body of the night. She is elbows deep, goggles in place and a bone saw sitting just in reach should the man decide to get on her nerves. When Mycroft stops just short of the area in which blood spray could reach him she mentally curses her luck.

"Miss. Hooper?" he asks, this makes Molly's temper flare as she felt she had earned at least a trickle of respect from this man.

"You know damn well who I am Mycroft, so skip it all and tell me what it is you want. I am relatively busy at the moment and don't have time to-"

"Please, Miss. Hooper, this is rather important and I would not deign to bother you if I didn't think you had the right to know. It is about Sherlock."

And Molly's head jerks up, her jaw sets and she slowly pulls her hands from the corpse and sets them on the edge of the table, blood and all, eliciting a wince from the man before her.

She runs the tip of her tongue along her upper lip slowly in irritation as she eyes this man through her goggles and tries to decide whether to tell him off or simply take her bone saw to his forehead.

"Before you do anything hasty with that rather abrasive instrument to your left I really do suggest you listen to what I have to say."

Molly sighs and yanks her gloves off, depositing them into the appropriate garbage can and then asks in a short tone, "Is he dead again?"

"No." the older man says with narrowing eyes.

"Is he in hospital...again?" and her tone sounds more irritated than concerned.

"No." the man responds more forcefully.

"Is he high, drunk or kidnapped and being held for ransom and I am the only person the kidnappers will talk to?"

"Miss. Hooper, really I must protest this-"

"Then I don't _care."_ and she yanks the goggles from her face and strides out of the room, leaving the older man no choice but to follow.

"It is most urgent that you listen to me." He says with such irritation and Molly swings around ready to commit murder as she gives him a taste of her most heated death glare, she feels a certain amount of satisfaction when the man nearly stumbles to back up, "No, it is better if you listen to me...Sherlock has crossed a line...whether he is sorry or doesn't understand I don't actually care, he needs to learn that even I have boundaries and he overstepped them by kilometers…."

"I understand but…"

"No, you don't, you weren't there you couldn't possibly-"

"Actually I was, and so was Dr. Watson...we saw and heard everything...that is why it is so important I speak with you."

Molly is dumbstruck, near frozen as she stares at him and realizes that the entire thing had apparently been on display. Her humiliation is eaten up instantly by her rage and she takes a step forward, "You...you were there? You watched him...you _let_ him do that to me...you let him humiliate and make fun of me? Why...even you know better than to...no, you wouldn't would you. Why...why would you let him-"

"If you would just be so kind as to come with me when your shift ends I can explain everything...please...just let me explain."

She stares at him again, not sure if she can trust such a secretive and uncaring man as this. Her eyes finally take him in and she realizes that this powerhouse man is currently only a shadow, looking pale, anemic and tired.

Molly swallows as she speaks again, this time softly. "You're tired...and you're worried." She sees him shift uncomfortably and knows she is on the right track, "You're worried about Sherlock...about me...about us and-"

"Please, just say you will come." and the smooth, highly intelligent man she has met so few times before is gone, replaced by someone who is exhausted, who is anxious for her to agree, who seems worn down and ready to quit.

For some reason Molly doesn't know of, she agrees and the man gives a relieved thank you before he informs her a car will be waiting. Mycroft leaves the lab just as he had come, though his once powerful aura of indestructibility seems far less sturdy these days. Molly looks back to the cadaver on the table and despite her own fatigue lets out a sigh, shaking her head in dismay as she gets back to work.

PAGEBREAK

Molly had been sitting in the interrogation room for nearly an hour, her tired eyes staring dull and exhausted at the two-way mirror before her. She could only guess who was standing behind it but she had a feeling it was Sherlock, his brother, John and possibly Greg. Why they had decided the station was the best place to meet she couldn't even guess. She just wanted to get the bullshite out of the way so she could finish wallowing in her angry self-pity and move on….like she always did.

 _Loser…_

When the only door to the room finally opened it was John who walked in, two coffees in hand and his demeanor just as worn down as Mycroft's was previously. Molly tried to temper herself because she realized very well that there was more going on here than just some stupid game.

"Molly...how are you?" the short man asked carefully, placing the cup in front of her and nudging it closer.

"I could be better." She said with that clipped tone, the one usually reserved for Sherlock, her mother and Toby when he rolled in her freshly washed clothes, the tight control on her anger slipping just minutely.

"Yeah. We all could…"

"How's little Rosie?" Molly asks genuinely curious, though she knows the small talk is just that, small and unnecessary.

"Good… crying more...she's getting her first tooth and...yeah...anyway...just- let's just move on to why you are here shall we?"

"That would be wonderful, I am quite ready to receive what ever slapdash explanation Sherlock has thrown together for my benefit and go home. Where is the Prince of darkness anyway?" Molly asks with a flat and unemotional voice.

John stares at her for a long moment, one eye narrowing slightly as he studies her.

"Could you just give me a moment?"

Molly's eyes harden and her lip twitches in exasperation but she gives a short nod. John gets up and walks out of the room, leaving Molly to wait again.

PAGEBREAK

John walked out into the hall slowly, shutting the door behind him and waiting a moment before he lets go of the knob. He takes a breath and then strolls the thirty feet to the observation room and opens the door.

"What are ya doing? Why did you leave?" greg asked as he stood from his hunched spot over the desk.

"Yes, some of us have things to do. We can't wait around all night." Mycroft snipped.

"No. I'm not doing this. One of you…"

"Not likely. She'd kick our arse." Greg mused with terror.

"However unlikely that would be, I went to fetch her from the hospital, I already received my death threat via a bone saw. As far as I am concerned my job is done." Mycroft said with a frown.

"Then why are you here!" John yelled angrily.

"Morale." Mycroft said as he glanced to the man in the corner, who was still leaning forward on the desk, his eyes locked onto the pathologist and not looking away.

John looked to the back of the man clad in a Belstaff and just as he was about to protest again the wind seemed to leave his sails, "Bloody hell, she's going to kill me in there." and he turned to leave, shutting the door behind him.

PAGEBREAK

When John reemerges his eyes have turned from tired to worried and Molly is slowly starting to see that all this worry is specifically towards her and she feels a fear of her own start to creep in. She takes a breath and says softly, "Sorry...I'm...just...tired and…" _Sick of all his bloody bullshite..._ "Sorry. Please, sit and take all the time you need."

John gives a very sad but knowing smile, for he has just managed to catch a glimpse of the Molly everyone has come to know over the years. The kind, caring and concerned Molly that would never say something or act in any way that would inconvenience someone else.

"Temper." She whispers to the side as she closes her eyes and purses her lips delicately, not wanting to be so predictable but also knowing it is in her nature to care.

"Pardon?" John asks as he sits and takes a sip from his cup, "Nothing, sorry. Just, let's start."

John nods and clears his throat, "Sherlock is in the station but he is speaking with Greg at the moment, he will join us in a little while."

Molly feels her heart jump and her stomach flip, she did not realize she would be seeing him so soon. Usually Sherlock tries to avoid her after tense moments between them, sometimes for up to a month. Seeing him so quickly after such a emotional moment is very rare indeed which makes Molly wonder more and more just exactly what has happened.

"So, sending you in first...he isn't avoiding me?" Molly asks with confusion.

"Ah, no, actually he wanted to be the first one to see you but it could take a awhile...paperwork and-"

"He's scared." Molly says matter-of-factly.

John leans in and says, "Bloody terrified." and the smirk does not escape Molly, "It's actually rather satisfying to watch him squirm." John teases.

Just like that the tension is broken and Molly tries to hide her own small smile, leaning back and letting out a long sigh, "So, you know what's going on?"

"Yeah. This is going to be sort of like an unofficial debriefing. You were involved in certain aspects of this case, though we didn't realize it at the time. I'm going to dust over the less important items and cut right to it. I...uh...well...you may want to brace yourself...some of this is pretty….well, just be prepared yeah?"

Molly nods and notices her anger has slowly faded over the last few minutes and concern has taken its place. She sets her hands in her lap, crosses her ankles and braces herself for what is to come.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock's eyes had never left Molly, the entire time she was in the waiting room, from the moment she stepped in until now. When John came back into the adjoining room he still did not look away. In fact, save for a few unhelpful "hmm's" and "Mhmm's" he hadn't said anything at all thus far. His blue eyes simply remained locked on the pathologist sitting in the interrogation room, her own eyes now glued to a tv screen that was playing the black and white images from the three men's little romp through Sherrinford.

"Well, that went well." John offered. He came to stand next to Sherlock and take a sip of his coffee, "Thought she was going to murder me as replacement for you."

"Yes." Sherlock said softly, his eyes taking in every movement, shift and facial expression Molly was subtly giving off.

"Where's greg?" he asked glancing around the room.

"The Detective Inspector was called away momentarily by Sergeant Donovan. He should return shortly." Mycroft said lazily.

John nodded to this and let out a sigh, "Took it real well…." he continued to say but he was glancing between Sherlock and through the window towards Molly. He noticed the way the detective stared, his eyes intense and focused, his face a mix of shadowed concern and curiosity.

His brow raised in surprise for he knew the look he was seeing, had given it himself a few times and it was not a look one ever expected to see from Sherlock Holmes.

"You know she will forgive you right? She loves you, that's what people do." John said in a hushed tone, far to curious to pass up on the fact that his best friend, the one who felt disdain for all types of emotions and for love itself, was looking at Molly Hooper with What could only be described as utter desire, worry and a certain amount of focus the man usually reserved for only the most interesting cases.

"Mmm." was his replay. John was about try again when he heard a small gasp and he turned just in time to see the governor pull the trigger and end his life.

Molly's hand rushed to her mouth but her eyes didn't leave the screen, she continued to watch and she suddenly seemed to realize the true nature of the situation.

"She will be alright….Molly is strong." Sherlock murmured but John could tell he was talking more so to himself, almost as if to reassure himself that she could manage through this and still come out okay.

"She'll be okay." John confirmed, but once again, Sherlock didn't respond as he only had eyes for Molly.

Ten minutes went by in mostly silent anxiety and anticipation, though all in the room would argue the anticipation was more so for how Molly would handle the upcoming seen that had caused her so much duress.

John swallowed and then glanced to Sherlock, the man still dead set on staring at the petite woman with far more intensity than John had ever seen him look at a woman.

"Sherlock...I want to ask you a question...I don't need any kind of explanation...I don't need to have a conversation but… do you...have you...how far do your feelings for Molly actually go?" John asked, more than aware that the man before him could be as honest or coy as he wanted or might not respond all together.

Yet, John was surprised when his friend, still fixating only on Molly, said softly, "How deep is the ocean John?" the man asked softly.

John stared at him in shock, not sure how this was relevant, "I ask you how you feel about Molly and you ask me...okay...fine...sure, let's play this game... _again_." he sighs and says with frustration, "No one really knows how deep...we can't actually go that far-"

"My feelings for Molly are deeper." Sherlock said and then he was gone again, lost in watching the woman behind the glass, lost in her very existence and as John glanced to Mycroft, whose eyebrows were somewhere up on his forehead, John sincerely hoped that Molly could manage.

Because if she couldn't, then neither could Sherlock.

PAGEBREAK

So far Molly has been able to keep level headed about everything she has been told and everything she has seen. Knowing Sherlock as she does and the type of cases he often works, it doesn't so much surprise her he had found himself in this type of situation but the shock value was constant. The fact he had a psychopathic sister who was even more messed up than the two brothers was not even that big of a surprise.

What the trio of men was going through though, as she watched, was nearly impossible to empathise with. She couldn't imagine if she would be able to survive such an event. The cruelty, tricks, experimental nature of it all was beyond anything she had ever seen save for the crimes committed in W.W. II.

If she is honest with herself, she almost feels like she is watching a documentary of some strange Nazi experiment. She doesn't understand why it was so important for her to see it, in fact, she doesn't seem to have anything at all to do with this so why are they showing her…

" _Now, back to the matter at hand. Coffin. Someone is about to die-"_

Molly's eyes are pulled back to the screen.

PAGEBREAK

"Don't panic." John heard Sherlock murmur and the blonde looked out to see where the video was at. He felt his heart rate increase and though he didn't know if Sherlock was talking to himself or to Molly he agreed. This was the moment of truth but no one should panic.

"Do you love her?" John asked softly but Sherlock was too far gone to reply as his focus on the petite woman had intensified further and his hands were fisting tightly upon the desk.

John turned when the door opened and nodded when he saw who it was, "Has Miss. Hooper finish?" Mycroft asked as he walked into the room from a bathroom break, instantly looking to his brother who just as instantly ignored him.

A loud bang from the interrogation room sounded and John and Mycroft joined Sherlock in viewing the young woman from behind the glass. Molly was standing up in shock, her chair having been knocked back and tipped over in the process.

"Apparently not." the eldest Holmes said as he looked away, worry lacing his voice as he went to turn back around.

"No!" Sherlock snapped and both men stopped, "Wait, we need to see if she can handle-"

"Oh my God!" Molly had a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and staring at the screen.

" _You say it first-"_

"OH MY GOD, NO!" She repeated quickly and her hand whipped out fast, shoving the tv from the table. Though miraculously the thing kept working and her voice could be heard commanding Sherlock to say I love you.

" _Say it like you mean it…"_

She covered her ears, circled a moment and then quickly collected her things and headed for the door.

"She can't." Sherlock said quickly as he spun and moved for the exit, gone before either John or Mycroft could say anything, leaving the two men to stare in shock.

John moved quick, "I'll grab Greg, follow Sherlock."

Mycroft nodded and headed out behind him.

PAGEBREAK

Molly is beyond ashamed, she is near without words. It feels like her heart might explode with regret and remorse and she suddenly knows that she doesn't want to face him. Because, suddenly, Molly is in the wrong, she had hurt him….when he had been trying to save her. She has ruined their friendship over something as disgusting as petty bitterness and now she is going to be made to pay, she will probably never see Sherlock again, whose choice that would be is unclear to her at this moment.

She hears panic in her brain, humiliation making her face glow crimson, and utter shame swirls in her stomach. "Oh my, oh my...okay….okay, it's...your….fine...just fine...okay...calm down." she murmurs frantically as she bumps shoulders with someone and apologizes.

She feels hands on her shoulders but it doesn't quite register right away. "You okay Hooper? Did Sherlock say something stupid again?" She hears someone ask faintly, her head barely cocking in the direction of the voice and from the hair she glimpses she knows it is Sally Donovan talking to her.

"No, no it was me...I...I...made him...I have to go." She near sobs out and she escapes Sally's grasp just as she hears Greg's faint voice calling after Sally to stop her.

She can hear her own words, which at the time had sounded strong and determined, but as she absorbed her voice on the recording she knows it was nothing more than anger, a small-minded and selfish desire to finally get something... _anything..._ from him that was affection, real true affection.

 _You say it then, say it like you mean it..._

She had inadvertently put his life and her own in danger for purely spiteful reasons and this time she wasn't sure this mess could be fixed, she wasn't sure Sherlock would ever see to forgive her for making him say the one thing that was like shooting poison into his brain. Even if he did, she did not think she could forgive herself.

She is streamlining for the stairs to get out of the building as quick as she can, the eyes of all those on the main floor of the yard casting her strange looks. No doubt, she must appear crazed but just as she latches onto the doorknob, a hand takes hold of her wrist and a familiar baritone says her name with a quick and irritated air.

"Don't run away." Sherlock says angrily and Molly feels more panic swell and she tries harder, jerking her shoulder but his hold doesn't falter.

All the heads turn from him to her quickly as Sherlock yanks her again, gripping onto her other wrist and pulling her to his chest, "Stop! Don't run! Not from me, I'll just find you, you know I can find you, wherever you may go." he urges with frustration and Molly dares a look to his face to see far more emotion than she is used to, far too much to read in one glance and the panic intensifies.

"Sherlock- I...I have to go! Let me go!" She yells as tears swell up in her eyes, seeing so many different emotions on Sherlock's face is unnerving. All of them running through her mind's eye against her will, _anger, fear, hurt, annoyance, frustration, worry… you caused all this, he hates you! He hates that you've brought such a colorful rainbow of confusion and turmoil into his life!_

"I won't." He says with an obstinate tone, peering down at her with angry and disappointed eyes.

"I don't want to hear what you have to say, I don't _want_ to." Molly hisses out with her own stint of anger.

"It's only fair that you do." He argued and Molly tries to pull away.

"I dont-"

"You will listen!" Sherlock near yells and Molly finally stills a bit just as John and Mycroft appear from around the back corner

"I've always listened to you, even when I thought it was rubbish, even when what you had to say forced me look at myself and see every mistake I've ever made. Even when it hurt me! Even when it was an unnecessary slap to the face! I have listened Molly Hooper! For eight years I have. Now you will listen to me."

All the heads swirl back to Molly who has a look of shock on her face, a near inability to comprehend what he is saying.

"You don't have to go." he urges more gently, releasing a wrist so that he can take up her waist and keep her from squirming free, "I'm not angry at you. Come back into the room...please." and he takes a few steps back, trying to ease Molly away from her escape route, back into the lion's den where she will have to face her mistakes. But Molly has had quite enough of facing her humiliation where Sherlock is concerned.

All eyes remain on her and Molly glances at them all, including Sally Donovan who appears just as confused as everyone else, her hard eyes locked onto Sherlock as if she is ready to pounce and stop his advance should Molly ask her to.

Molly clenches her eyes closed when she realizes everyone is staring at them, waiting for an answer and she instantly buries her face into Sherlock's warm chest. She wants to be anywhere else, doing anything else. She'd even accept a verbal lashing from Sherlock to all these people staring as if she is some daytime Telly soap opera.

"Come back into the room Molly, we really should speak about this." Sherlock says so softly, so warmly from the depths of his chest. She can feel his lips murmuring against the crown of her head, hears him inhale deeply as he finally wraps his remaining arm around her and hugs her tightly.

"I'd much rather run. Please just let me go." She begs meekly.

"You know I can't do that." He says as if to a child, his coddling is impressive for someone like him and Molly is grateful even if she doesn't deserve it.

"I'm...I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I didn't know-"

"Precisely why we should talk about it, that's what people do right? Talk about their issues?" and Sherlock's eyes glance around when he notices a few people nod. The entire floors attention is rapt, the air tense and heavy with anticipation.

"Normal people do, we aren't normal." Molly scoffs bitterly, her anger from earlier rearing its head because she wants to be normal, but even as plain and uninteresting as she is, Molly Hooper is still far away from anything normal, "We don't get to be normal, I'm stuttering Morbid Molly Hooper, and your Sherlock Holmes, the high functioning sociopath with a drug habit….we defy all things normal." and the words are growing in resentment though she tries to remain calm.

"We could be, just for a day. You and me, we could be...I could try to be normal...well, maybe a vauge resemblance of normal." he jokes and Molly marvels at his attempt to comfort her, to ease her back into their regular relationship.

Molly gives a weak chuckle as she tries to fight back tears, "You don't need to change Sherlock. I love you just the way you are…no...I mean...I didn't...I just meant-"

Sherlock gives a small smile, his eyes nearly sparkling as he says softly, "I love you too, Molly Hooper."

Her mouth drops open and her eyes grow wide, unable to believe such a thing just left his mouth.

"What?" She chokes out, her breath starting to come in short puffs as she stares at him.

Sherlock squeezes her tighter, "We are hugging aren't we?" he teases.

"You don't like hugging...or physical contact." Molly rebukes, her voice breathless and Sherlock smirks.

"Ah, but we are being normal today, aren't we?"

Molly chuckles through her tears, "Perfectly normal." she agrees.

"You can see me Molly Hooper, do you really think I'd let you go?" Sherlock mumbles into her ear softly.

"You great lump, you don't have to butter me up," she pulls away to look at him, "Do you really need me to go back into that horrid room?" She asks, trying to defuse any awkwardness before it can actually set in.

"Only for awhile, we have to finish your debriefing." Sherlock replies, his lips grazing her cheek as he speaks.

Molly holds him more firmly, "It's going to be awful isn't it?"

"Only a little." He promises with a kind gaze.

"Alright. But I'll need more coffee."

"Black, with cream and two sugars."

"Please." and he sets her down, Molly having been unaware he had lifted her up in the first place and reluctantly walks away.

As she turns to head back towards the interrogation room she stops in embarrassment to see everyone still staring, eyes wider than ever, mouths hanging open. Donovan looks as if she might tip over, "Excuse us." Molly says with a blush and she ducks her head and starts to walk.

PAGEBREAK

"So, the only thing left to discuss is if you had a run in with anyone who looked like her, even remotely over the last year." John said and he slid four pictures of Sherlock's sister before Molly. Two of them depicted two young girls in their late twenties or early thirties, one of an older lady with glasses and one of Eurus herself with her long black hair.

It was Mycroft, John, Sherlock and Greg in the room with her now, no longer needing any privacy to allow her to compose herself. Though, John was asking most of the questions and informing her of things they thought it important for her to know. Throughout the whole thing Molly couldn't stop glancing at Sherlock who was standing in the corner, leaning against the wall, his intense blue eyes locked on and not wavering.

She didn't know quite how to feel about the events of the night. Nor did she know how to take Sherlock's admission of love. She quickly squashed all thoughts of it being more than platonic when she walked back into the interrogation room, but then had second thoughts when she finished watching the rest of the video.

Watching him destroy that coffin broke her heart and scared her all at the same time as she had never seen him that angry or emotionally expressive before. She wanted to ask him but was reluctant as the man had been through such an emotional roller coaster ride already, asking him for anything more would be beyond selfish and she had had quite enough of that already.

Yet the way he was staring at her….

Molly refocused her mind and eyed the pictures, then gasped, "Her, the girl with the flower, she came to my door a few months ago, asked to borrow some laundry detergent. Said her laundry was broken and she was headed to the wash down the road….I let her use mine….we talked for a few hours."

The tension in the room grew thick, Molly swallowed as her eyes darted to the four men who were in turn glancing to Mycroft, "What did you talk about?" John asked.

Molly realized what John might unintentionally be implying and Molly cleared her throat softly and said, "Not much, actually. Mostly she asked about my job and what I did. Was very curious about autopsies and seeing photos. Curious on what effect my job has on my mental health, which I thought was odd. Asked a few questions about me and Sherlock. Said she saw us in the paper."

"What did she ask?" Mycroft slid in casually.

"Just….things about our relationship. I told her it was strictly platonic… that we were friends….after what happened with Jim I try not to talk about Sherlock with people I don't know."

"This maybe...awkward but as far as possible can you remember the questions she asked?" and Molly felt her cheeks flare with red as she looked at John with irritation.

"Does it really matter?" she snipped glancing to Sherlock who seemed to be very interested in her blushing cheeks.

"Unfortunately, Miss. Hooper it does." Mycroft said and she turned her evil eye on him and he cleared his throat, "Please."

Molly remembered the visit with full clarity, it had been as strange and surreal as anything someone might see on the Tele. It wasn't until right before Eurus left that things had gotten really strange and She had had to kick the woman out.

Having dismissed it as a crazy Sherlock Holmes fangirl She hadn't felt the need to tell anyone but now, looking back, she wished She had gone straight to the police.

"She asked if we were or had ever been romantically involved. If I thought he loved me, if I loved him. I didn't answer her questions, just changed the subject each time. She actually reminded me a little of Mary...very cheery and open, very clever but in a warm way..." She trailed off though, because those other things, the stuff she didn't want to discuss, made her feel extremely uncomfortable.

Not even Meena knew, the situation having been too bizarre for words.

John gave a soft smile and closed the file before him, ready to dismiss it all and be done for the night, Molly thinking she might just be able to avoid sharing, but Mycroft spoke swiftly before John could say anything.

"What are you not telling us, Miss. Hooper?"

Molly felt her face grow even more red and she looked down to her lap as she twisted her fingers anxiously.

John eyed Mycroft a moment with a look of warning before he leaned forward and said softly, "We need to know everything Molly...I know it's hard but given the circumstances-"

"I'll tell Sherlock… but I'd prefer everyone else to...leave." and when no one moved right away she added desperately, "Please?"

Mycroft, Greg and John stood slowly, looking to Sherlock who only nodded before he moved from his perch in the corner and came to sit in John's vacated chair.

When the others had left Molly still couldn't look up. To her surprise Sherlock placed a hand on the table, palm up. Molly, still without looking, placed her hand in his and he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Just relax Molly. Whatever you say won't surprise me."

Molly bit her bottom lip and chanced a peek at him. His face was open and soft, his eyes focused on her and a gentle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. No matter how old Sherlock grew, he always managed to retain some of his boyish charm.

"She asked if we had ever had sex. She asked all kinds of questions Sherlock. At the time I thought she was just a fan, maybe just wanted some gossip to take back to her girlfriends. Maybe, she was a reporter. But… at one point...she...she...knowing now that she is your sister...it...it's-"

"What happened?" Sherlock asked and Molly finally looked up, the open warm face from seconds ago was gone, replaced by what she could only describe as a stone cold anger, Molly pulled her hand away and stood. Sherlock only watched, leaning back in his chair and then suddenly said, "She came on to you."

Molly nodded quickly, a tear slipping from her eye and she quickly wiped it away.

"She tried to, saying all kinds of lewd and inappropriate things...maybe not so inappropriate if you were someone's lover but I was a stranger to her. Knowing what I know now… the implication is-"

"Disturbing." Sherlock finished with a nod of agreement.

"I don't know why she did it...but I asked her to leave...she did….left all her clothes and everything."

Sherlock stood then, he approached Molly and took her hands, his thumb gently grazing over her knuckles in a soothing motion and Molly looked to those eyes that seemed rather sympathetic given Sherlock's usual inclination to be anything but, "My sister has shown signs of having a rather distasteful fascination with me...I would prefer to chalk it all up to sisterly affection….she only ever seemed to want to know me better...however, given your testimony I may have to consider alternatives….things that are far more troubling than I once thought."

Molly took a breath and shook her head, not wanting to think of what it all could actually mean, it made her stomach turn at the thought.

"She is gone for good Molly. She won't be bothering anyone again…" and this time Sherlock looked down, his eyes finally breaking their long standing observation of Molly to stare at their joined hands and Molly got a feeling it was far from over.

"You're going to keep seeing her, aren't you." it was a statement and Sherlock's piercing gaze met her softer one and he said in a deep voice, "I have to, I made a promise...if I can help her at all...in anyway… I should at least try. I have to try. She is my sister after all, and there is still so much to learn about her. I want to see her, as she forced her way into my life I feel the need to return the favor."

Molly couldn't say she understood, she was relatively distant with most of her remaining family, but Sherlock was an odd one and given his history for adventure and thrill seeking she really wasn't surprised.

"Just be careful. I know you don't like to admit it, but your heart is more at risk than any of ours...keep it safe from her. She could end up hurting you far worse than she already has."

"I'm not worried. I do, after all, have the perfect person to help protect it." and Sherlock leaned a little closer, Molly unable to help the little bit of haze that slipped into her mind.

"Hmm? Protect what?" came her soft reply, her very being caught up in the man's deep and soothing voice.

"My heart." he near whispered and as he leaned closer his nose grazed hers and Molly breathed out in shock, "Would you do me the favor of coming to Baker Street tonight?"

"Baker street?" and her head was doubling with haze, her orientation to the floor feeling slightly off.

"I'd very much like to speak with you...I've some plans I wish to discuss." his voice was deep, his eyes sharp and his lips mere inches from her own. Molly was being consumed again by this man and she was, as usual, helpless to stop it.

"Plans? Like body part plans or-"

"No, plans that are currently secret...we must not speak of them here though, the walls have ears…"

"Your brother?"

"Something like that, say you'll come?"

"I don't know, I've not slept and I'm not sure I'd make good company, and Toby needs tending to-"

"Bring the cat if need be, just promise me you will _come_."

The innuendo was absolutely not lost on her and before she could stop herself, before Sherlock even finished his sentence she said, "Alright, I promise."

"That's my girl. I will see you in an hour." and to Molly's utter delight and shock he leaned down and gave a soft kiss to her lips.

When he pulled away he leaned his forehead onto hers, "One hour." he repeated.

"An hour." Molly agreed.

"Not a second longer."

"No." She agreed.

"Good girl." he said endearingly though it was nearly inaudible against the blood rushing through her ears. He let her go and stepped back, straightening his clothes and coat and then giving a wink as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. Molly followed, stepping through when he opened it for her, as she went left he went right and both glanced back at each other as they walked away.

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It was nearing the early morning hours when Molly let herself in, a note on the door told her to come straight up. She caught the stagnant smell of smoke and a sharp hint of pine in the air, noticing as she began to climb the stairs a large quantity of cleaning supplies in the corner.

She was exhausted, her legs protesting the climb and her back aching something fierce as she held a small overnight bag to her chest. She hoped that she was not being presumptive, part of her wanted to stow the bag in the downstairs hall just in case she was wrong.

Despite her fatigue there was a swimming pool of anxiety and fear in her stomach, churning and bubbling, not at all sure that this is what Sherlock had intended. Molly was one of the very few who could read this man, see how he was really feeling, could tell when he wasn't being honest with others or with himself. Yet, right now, she was at a loss.

All his intentions seemed clear at the station, but Sherlock had managed to trick her before, to make her think one thing and then blatantly turn around and state that he had meant another. She was honestly terrified, because after what had recently happened, she wasn't sure she could take anymore humiliation or heartache.

In Molly's mind, this was one of those defining moments, a moment that would settle their future once and for all, would they remain friends...or would it proceed down a road that neither had ever expected.

As she reached the upper main hall the smell of smoke and burnt plastic intensified and she suddenly wished she hadn't brought her bag. Of course they wouldn't be doing anything, not here, Baker Street still needed mending. She must have been crazy to assume-

"You're thoughts are very loud Miss. Hooper." and Molly jumped to see Sherlock standing on the stairs that led up to John's old room. He was wearing his dress pants and shirt with a robe pulled tight around him and he stared at her with an air of casual ease, a small smirk on his face and Molly blushed.

"I wasn't sure...I thought...I brought clothes...I need to sleep…" and she quickly rolled her lips together and looked away, frustration at the intensifying blush on her cheeks building in her chest and mixing with her anxiety.

"Don't worry. John's room wasn't so upset by my sister's little present as the rest of the flat was. The smell isn't as bad upstairs, if you can handle it we can go up there."

Molly nodded but when Sherlock held out a hand for her bag Molly turned back to the ruined flat and sighed, taking a moment to truly observe the devastation. She didn't really have anything she could say for it and knew Sherlock didn't really need the same reassurances a normal person might.

Nevertheless she felt his presence next to her seconds later and she glanced to him and then back at the wreckage, "Going to be some work." Sherlock said.

"Yes." Molly agreed as her eyes noticed that the bull's head and ear phones had made it through relatively unscathed.

"Will take a bit."

"Of course." Molly nodded.

"You're stalling."

"Very much so- No! I mean, God's, why do you always! Everytime!" she growled out as she turned to him with such an anger only to see Sherlock with a sly smile etched across his face.

Molly couldn't bring herself to stay mad long though because seconds later Sherlock had slipped her night sack away from her hand and turned to head up the stairs. Molly swallowed and then slowly followed suit.

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She had never been in John's room before, though as the man had moved out awhile ago it was very sparse. Only a bed, dresser, desk and bookcase remained, the books on it large but hardly filling up the space. The closet door was cracked and she could see the remains of discarded boxes and some old bedding.

When she actually looked to the bed she realized it was freshly turned down, the linens looked new and crisp and she glanced to Sherlock as she waited to see what was going to happen. The man had set her bag on the empty desk and then turned to her, his body slightly more tense but his face still calm.

"Do you work tomorrow?"

"No, but you knew that." She said carefully.

"I did, but given the incident downtown I was unassuming in the chance that-"

"No, Mike said he would cover for Meena...are you...does John know you are here?" She asked, suddenly getting a feeling that what was going on at the moment was not meant to be known to anyone else.

"I told him I would be busy, whatever he deems to imagine I'm doing suits me fine. Mycroft might know, but then again Mycroft makes it his business to know."

This made Molly worry her bottom lip but Sherlock was quick to counter any fears she might have as he crossed to her and took up her hands in his, "Don't worry yourself, Mycroft is an idiot."

"Says you."

"Says everyone." and Molly couldn't help the small laugh that escaped from her, but as she stared up at him her smile faded and so did his.

"Sherlock...can I ask you a question?" and her heart pounded because she didn't know why it suddenly popped into her head to ask him. She could just as well assume but that only ever got her in trouble with this man. So, she continued to look at him and Sherlock nodded, "Of course."

"Why...why did you...when you were in Sherrinford- no...never mind. I'm sorry." and she pulled away, choosing instead to go to the small window and look out onto the quiet dark street. She had to shake off whatever discomfort she felt, had to remove herself from this sick curiosity because in the long run she had no doubt it would hurt her.

You can't be in love with Sherlock Holmes and expect to get everything you ever wanted. He wasn't made to work that way, in fact, the amount of affection alone he had shown her in the last few hours was near unheard of. Save for someone like John or baby Rosie, Sherlock thought affection near as useless as emotions.

"Stop it." She hissed out to herself as she caught a trickle of hope start to seep into her chest.

His voice came suddenly and without warning from right behind her and though Molly jumped she did not turn around, "You want to know about the coffin." he said and Molly nodded guiltily, looking out at the night like some mother waiting for her son to come home from war.

"It's complicated." he started and Molly was very prepared to take that as her answer and live with it, "I expected as much." it really was silly of her to ask him such a thing, given the situation he had been in at the time, she felt the hope in her chest slowly die.

The next few seconds of silence were tense and Molly thought she might just be best off to go back home. As tired as she was, this wasn't getting them anywhere and honestly Sherlock was more than likely sick of dealing with emotions and the like.

"But, not to complicated to explain." Molly suddenly found herself holding her breath.

"It could take a moment…" and she felt his hands slowly slide onto her side's, and then around to rest on her stomach. She felt the floor shift beneath her as he took the last step in and pressed his chest and hips to her back, his lips coming down next to her ear, "Do you have the time?"

Molly nodded as her lips rolled together and her eyes closed tightly, she savoured his warmth, embraced this moment of close proximity with shameful amounts of delight.

"To put it as straightforward as possible, when it comes right down to it, I thought I'd lost you."

Molly thought about this statement, she wasn't sure in which context he meant, either literally or figuratively. Her confusion was put on hold when she felt his lips skim down her neck and slowly press aside the collar of her dress shirt. She gave a small gasp and Sherlock's fingers tightened their hold on her blouse.

"When I had to make that phone call to you it was far more painful than I had anticipated. My mind was fractured, split between how to survive the trap my sister had laid out and how to make sure everyone else survived as well." Sherlock's fingers slid up her front, coming to the top bottom of her blouse and he slowly started to undo it, casually working his way down with each sentence he spoke.

"I never imagined in my wildest dreams you would be pulled in to it. You never had been before, everyone always seemed to think you didn't count, and despite what you may think on the matter I liked it that way. It meant you were safe, out of reach to those who may try to harm you to get to me." his lips kissed the nape of her neck as his hands slowly slid her shirt off of her shoulders. Molly's silk tank-top receiving a proper stroke from Sherlock's gliding hands.

"When I realized that you were no longer protected, that you had finally been pulled in...I felt a panic I had never felt before. It was toxic in its effects on my mind. I could not see a way to avoid doing what Eurus asked of me... so… I plowed ahead with only the hope that I could save your life, that after it all, if I ever saw you again you would forgive me."

And his fingers delicately wrapped under the silken hem of her tank, raising it up slow, his thumbs grazing over her pale flesh until he reached her chest, "Arms up, Molly." he whispered and Molly complied as if in a trance, though if you knew anything of their past relations, you would know she was.

"I knew, the instant I asked you to say it and your subsequent attempt to hang up that it was going to be a fight to the death, not between myself and Eurus but between you and I." Sherlock paused again and Molly swore she heard the slightest quiver to his voice when the tips of his fingers followed the fabric of her bra towards the slender arch of her back. He ran a thumb back and forth across smooth skin as a finger slid down to rest between her skin and the fabric.

"After it was all over, after you said it and Eurus disconnected the call, when she told me you had never been in any real danger, molly, I had never felt so utterly desolate in my life."

She nearly jumped when his fingers gave a flick and her bra clips instantly sprung open. Fingers were soon traveling again but this time up over her shoulder blades to the thin strips that were already sliding away, tracing them only to reach the peek of her shoulders and press them down and over the edge.

Molly's breath hitched, her knees had started to shake and her eyes remained dutifully closed, anticipation building like a snake coiling to strike.

"S-Sherlock-" she tried to whisper out desperately but he hushed her gently as his hands ran down the length of her arms to her hands, easily taking them up in his and raising them to her chest where he continued to hold them, this semi, half naked hug driving her wild and flaring a burning heat in her lower abdomen.

"I had lost everything that mattered the most to me, that I had hurt the one person that I thought would never turn their back on me, the one person who could truly see me, the one person that I had never been able to push away…" and suddenly a single hand was traveling down, palm sliding across her belly and fingers carefully taking up the bottom to her pants.

"The thought you might finally be done with me for good...it was costic. I was so angry, angry that she had made me hurt you in such a way, and angry at myself for not seeing it sooner, that of all the people I knew, you were the most vulnerable."

His fingers quickly released the button then slowly took care of the zipper, his hand then diving down into the front of her pants and this time Molly couldn't stop her reaction. She jerked in surprise, "Sherlock!" she gasped out and the man held her tightly, giving her support for those betraying limbs Molly used to call legs, but also not releasing her from his grasp.

"I didn't know until I knew." He whispered as his cheek came to rest next to her own, the hand that was now down the front of her pants adjusting so a single finger could gently stroke once over her panties and caress her womanhood.

"That I loved you...that I love you...truly. The anger was like venom and I wanted to destroy that bloody coffin…" as his words sped up, the intensity of emotion grew in his voice, his fingers following suit and repeating several strokes in rapid succession over her now electrified clit.

"The very idea of seeing it and what it represented at that moment such an offensive thing to me. That our friendship could be over, that it took me so long to realize I cared for you in such a way...that I may never get to tell you...it made my blood boil, my heart scream. The idea that our relationship was going to be laid to rest in such a way... it simply could not exist. So I destroyed it."

And Molly's legs near gave out as Sherlock's fingers continued to stroke between her thighs, Molly's head lulled back onto his shoulder as she panted and gasped, her thighs squeezing together out of desperation to stop his teasing of her.

"It's still true." came Sherlock's husky voice and Molly let out a very womanly moan of his name as he continued his ministrations despite Molly's best efforts to gain back some coherency.

"I love you...and now...I've come to find myself at a crossroads. Either, I try to go back to the way things were before...and hope you can adjust to our previous friendship…" and Sherlock kissed her neck and nestled into her hair as his fingers increased in speed, "or..I take the next step...a step in a direction I have never truly gone before...with anyone...blindly walk a path I have refused for years…" and his fingers stopped long enough to grip onto the fabric and give a sharp tug, an easy ripping sound filling the space around them, before those fingers finally made contact with her actual heat, both of them gasping together at the sudden experience of uncensored sexuality, she felt Sherlock swallow thickly, "all for you...to...keep you in my life. So, we've come to the reason I asked you here tonight..do you still love me Molly Hooper? Do you still want me...after everything?"

Molly felt the sweat on her brow and the excitement in her stomach, felt how her body trembled and shook with a visceral want of this man. Even so, she made herself wait before she answered and took that second to pull her aching body away from him, turning to brace her hands on the window frame, her bum resting on the sill. Her breaths came heavy and her voice was surely undone but she managed out a coherent sentence, ignoring the fact that she was now half bare to him.

"Before I answer, I need you to do something for me Sherlock."

"Anything." he offered calmly, his eyes leaving her face to scan her up and down, no doubt deducing whatever he could out of habit and it didn't bother her a tick. At this point she had nothing to hide. She was not ashamed of the scar where her appendix had been removed, she did not wish to hide the small cigarette burn on the front of her left shoulder from and old abusive boyfriend when she had been too young to know better. She no longer cared if he saw the small thin pale slices to her upper chest, the only place she could hide her habit of cutting after her father died, a short lived release that she quickly got therapy to resolve.

She wasn't worried about her breasts being too small or her waist too thin or her hips not being curvy enough, the only thing she cared about was what Sherlock would do next. Molly remained perched in the window, using any reserve energy to hold herself up as her body was alive now with an electric lust, something deep and heavy and at the moment it simply wanted to lay down and open itself up to the possibilities of Sherlock. She remained firmly placed though and spoke in a desperate and desire filled voice, "Let me see you, Sherlock. Let me see...everything."

His lips parted a little and his eyes grew a bit wider before they locked with hers and he swallowed. He said not a word as solid hands slowly opened to remove his robe, which pooled on the floor around his feet. It did not take those steady hands long to get his dress shirt open, though he removed it with a slow dignity and when it was done he slid that from his body too.

Now, they both were bare, their scars were exposed. Molly looked upon his pale glowing flesh to see old wounds and newer ones. Ranging anywhere from knife wounds to bullet holes and burn marks. The drug abuse to his arms was not new to her, and she only lingered on those a moment before she looked up to his eyes and gave a small smile.

Sherlock's eyes still burned into hers and when he approached her his hands reached out and grabbed onto those hips with such firmness Molly realized she was not going to be able to stall him much longer. Still, Sherlock had not shown her everything like she had asked.

"Let me see." She whispered and those musicians fingers dusted up her body to take hold of her face and just before he kissed her he said honestly and in a ghost of a voice, "You already do."

When his lips met her own Molly keened into his mouth and her legs finally gave. His grip on her was instant and he was moving backwards, carrying her with him towards the bed. Their tongues clashed and fought, his hands gripping onto her and trying to press her trousers off. Molly's hands were gripping at his belt buckle and then they were tumbling on the bed.

The pants were off moments later, Sherlock tugging the remnants of Molly's ripped panties away which caused her to grunt. "Buying me new ones-" she managed before Sherlock bit her bottom lip, "Later."

"Oh my god." She gasped out when his fingers found their way to her nipple, he gave a shove and then she was under him. He had her wrists in his hands quick, pinning them to either side of her head, his hips rocking hard to press her thighs apart. He jerked a knee up to hook under the backside of her own and Molly realized he had not only pinned her but that he had her completely open and ready to be taken.

"You never answered my question Miss. Hooper." Sherlock said as his mouth sought out a nipple and latched on. Molly jerked at the sudden bite of pain. Sherlock started to suck gently and Molly couldn't stop her squirming as she tried to sink into such a delicious feeling.

"What question?" Molly asked as the man above her turned his attention to the other nipple and gave a rather brutalizing bite.

Molly squealed and jerked hard, her womanhood near soaked with want and her nipples now sore and aching for more attention.

"Do you love me?" he asked and then he was positioning himself at her entrance but did not take the next step. Molly had stilled at his question, feeling Sherlock's length hard and ready but not moving forward. She looked up into those icy blue eyes. Both Molly and Sherlock were panting, both had near black eyes from dilation and their faces had red splotches on their cheeks. The fever that comes with sexual desire finally consuming Sherlock Holmes, the man who all thought her immune to such a disease.

He looked amazing, so open and undone, Molly smiled softly up at him as she said with surety, "Yes, Sherlock, I love you. More than you will ever know."

Sherlock seemed to let go of some hidden breath before he looked at her and smiled cockely, "Good."

"Good? I don't under-STAAND!" Sherlock pressed in quick and deep, leaving Molly's back nearly off the bed, her heels digging in to press away from him at the sudden and swift intrusion.

He gripped onto her hips then, releasing her wrists and Molly instantly shoved her fingers into his hair, fisting it hard and giving a rather frustrated yank. Despite the yell from Sherlock at the sudden pain, he managed to pull out and press in again, just as deep and quick as before but slightly to the left and Molly let out another yell.

"S-Sherlock...to...ow...to...deep...wait!" but he didn't seem to hear and pulled out again, ramming back in and Molly finally felt something besides pain and discomfort. She didn't open her mouth to protest this time and Sherlock seemed to speed up, Molly realizing he had heard her the whole time and has been adjusting minutely from the beginning.

This time when he thrusted back in he was at a much better angle and Molly couldn't stop the moans of pleasure that escape herself.

"Sorry, bit rusty." He managed out.

"It's fine." She groaned when he thrusted in again, though he seemed to come back to himself and slowed his movements. This helped Molly to relax, to come down a little and actually experience the moment. She finally had this man all to herself, moving with her and inside her, so close their bodies were fully intertwined, she was running her fingers through his hair, leaning up to take in his full scent for the first time.

She felt intoxicated, exposed before the man who saw everything and she felt beautiful, wanted, loved. She sought out his mouth, let her hands glide down his back. She took in every flaw, every perfection and savoured the feeling of Sherlock on top of her, pressing into her.

His fingers were bruising, his thrusts deep and slow, his lips meeting hers and his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. When her fingers found a nipple she pinched hard, Sherlock gave a jerk against her lodging his length in deeper, more snug and she wanted to feel him there, like that, always.

When he let out a noise of pleasure, of enjoyment, Molly's world spun and she couldn't stop herself from moaning things into his ear. Things she had never said to anyone else, even Tom, things that were dirty and explicit. Molly caught herself, thought it might be a turnoff, but Sherlock seemed to enjoy it more than she expected and he urged her to keep talking, keep whispering licentious things to him.

"Your mouth is filthy this morning, let me help you clean it out." and he pressed his tongue in deep, his hands finally releasing their demon grip and they jumped up to her breasts, pinching her nipples, palming her perky mounds hard.

"Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!" she pleaded and Sherlock hummed back in delight, in a heady lustful way that made Molly want to do more, hear more, anything to get him to be more vocal. She reached around, dragging her nails down his back and he shuddered, clenching his eyes closed and shaking his head.

"You're asking for trouble." He breathed, his hips rocking harder against her, his pelvis stroking against her clit in such a delicious way.

"You're the very essence of trouble, I wouldn't expect anything else."

"Cheeky." He said with a particularly deep thrust into her body. Molly gasped at it and leaned up, kissing his neck gently before she opened her mouth and latched onto his slender throat with her teeth.

"Reeeally cheeky." He gasped out and Molly moaned as she tasted his flesh, smelling the Black Number 2. He only ever wore it when he was trying to hide the fact he had been smoking.

"Smoker." She manages to get out as she tried to suck harder, she was desperate to leave a mark, to claim him as hers, to show that he was no longer on the market or up for grabs. Sherlock seemed to have other plans, however, as he pulled away and said with frustration, "Much too cheeky."

When he slid out of her she whined and reached for him but he simply took her hands, bringing them to his lips and kisses each palm gently.

"Cheeky girls get disciplined."

"Oh yes, yes we do." Molly said with excitement as she made to get up but Sherlock's hand quickly came to lay between her breasts and he gently pushed her back down.

"Now, no more words from you, or you won't get off."

"What?" She asked with terror in her voice.

Sherlock stopped and looked at her utterly flabbergasted, "Honestly Molly, what did I just say to you? No talking or your happy ending will be very unhappy." He chided.

"You can't just withhold-"

"That is warning two, you really don't want to be happy do you." the smile he gave was wicked and Molly went to speak but managed to stop herself, "Good girl." and his voice rang in that deep base of approval and Molly watched with concerned eyes as Sherlock took hold of her thighs and gently pressed them open, his palms running down the insides gently before his eyes locked with hers and he slowly started to sink down.

When his mouth took up her wet heat her nails dug sharply into the sheets and she had to withhold a hiss and subsequent moan.

Over the next ten minutes Sherlock took his time, licking, sucking and kissing Molly's most intimate area. He had teased, attacked and ghosted across her bundle of nerves too many times to count. Molly swore she had tasted blood at one point when she almost cried out, having bit her tongue instead.

By the time he popped his head up to look at her she was sure she was a mess. A light sheen of sweat covered her body, her face was burning hot and the pleasure that had been building now had a painful edge to it. She was shaking, all her muscles tight and her chest was nearly heaving.

"You look slightly crazed my love." Sherlock mused with satisfaction and Molly clenched her eyes closed and rolled her lips together when his tongue slowly slid up the length of her womanhood to the soft wispy mound of hair on top.

"You've done well. You may talk now, and tell me, have you learned your lesson about being cheeky?"

Molly barely managed to nod, she thought she might be drooling a little, hoped to god she wasn't and then said in the most desperate voice she had ever heard herself have, "Please?"

The small smile on Sherlock's face faded, replaced with parted lips, swollen from their studious work only minutes earlier, his eyes staring at her intensely, blue gone and replaced with black holes that were now scanning up and down her body with such lust.

"Yes, I should shouldn't I? Stop the games-"

"Yes, please...I'll behave if you do."

"Yes." and Sherlock held out a hand to her and she took it, his solid grasp instilling calm to her soft tremors. He pulled her up and helped her to shift around, a hand coming to her hip, the other to her stomach to steady her. He shifted his knees and then released her hip long enough to take hold of his length and position it.

The hand on Molly's stomach slowly slid up to her throat, his forearm resting between her breasts and pressing her back against his chest. As soon as his other hand latched onto her hip he pressed into her wet heat and let out a small cry of ecstasy as Molly moaned loudly.

His chin came to rest on her shoulder, his pelvis smacking into her arse as he moved in and out, short quick thrusts, his arms suddenly wrapping around her torso as he held tight. Molly felt his lips kiss her cheek, then her shoulder before Sherlock seemed to hunch down a bit, nestling the side of his face to rest on her back, this minute change giving him a slightly deeper edge to his thrusts.

Molly's mouth fell open, head lulling back as her breasts bounced and and she mouth his name over and over.

Finally, she felt one of his hands slip down, reaching to cup the front of her womanhood, a finger snacking into rub her little bundle of nerves and she came undone. A shooting orgasm rippled through her, Sherlock's name leaving her mouth followed by a rather affirmation of her enjoyment. Her muscles locking onto his length and creating such glorious friction.

As she tumbled down Sherlock's arm released her and a hand pressed her forward, her own hands coming to rest on the bed before her and Sherlock took this moment to speed up, thrust deep and fill the room with the sounds of him taking her mercilessly hard.

A hand latched into her hair and pulled her head back, the other digging fingers into her ribs until finally she felt him reach his peak and as she finished her fall he came, a shuddering procession of half growls and heaving moans, his hips bucking wildly against her until both hands gripped her hips and he pressed in so deep Molly found herself crying out and digging her fingers into the bed.

When Sherlock finally finished her held her there before him, giving ghosted weak thrusts despite the fact he was spent. Heavy pants of air gently caressing Molly's back as her eyes remained closed to saviour the feeling of him resting inside her. A warm hand came to gently rub up and down her back, over her arse and down the back of her thighs. Molly instantly relaxed at the touch and gasped softly when Sherlock pulled out of her.

Slowly, she chanced a glance over her shoulder at him, his eyes locking with hers as he raised a hand and gently touched his knuckles to her cheek, "Alright?" he asked.

Molly nodded but did not speak, "Shower?" he asked and she only repeated her nod, realizing that at this very moment, she had no words, was lost in some foreign afterglow of the most intense sexual encounter she had ever had, which just so happened to be with the man she had loved for too many years to count.

Sherlock's eyes grew slightly worried, and he swallowed, "Are you sure you are alright?" his thumb running up past her temple and over a brow as she continued to peer at him from over her shoulder. She nodded for a third time, still no words to use as she had nearly fallen into a state of shock.

Sherlock only nodded in response, his mind taking in her own expression, her body language and failing to read it completely. Not understanding Molly's sudden loss of voice.

"Come, the one downstairs still works." and he moved off the bed and held out his hand to her. Molly took it, Sherlock's seed spilling out a little as she went to stand and her face erupted in flames. She froze mid-step, more processing going on as she slowly looked down and saw the creamy yet translucent liquid slowly moving down her inner thighs.

Sherlock's eyes followed hers, before looking up again and taking a moment to think before he gave a small start, "Oh!" he said and grabbed up his rob, pulling from it a handkerchief which he was about to hand over before he realized Molly was still staring between her legs, face red and eyes looking slightly uncertain.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he only keeled before her, the smell of her womanhood hitting his senses and he had to fight back a shiver of want. He gently cleaned up her thighs, a small sliver of pride and accomplishment hitting him, though he quickly logged it as an archaic and primitive response, shifting it away from the forefront of his mind and focusing on the task at hand.

Once Molly was a bit cleaner Sherlock stood to see Molly thinking, her eyes were glancing to the right, flicking a little here and there as she seemed to be caught in some inner battle with herself.

Knowing he wasn't the best at this type of thing Sherlock had an urge to call John and see if the man could prod him in the right direction. However, given his desire to keep this new situation on the low for awhile, just until He was sure there were no tricks left up his sister's sleeve, a phone call to John would have to wait.

 _You can figure this out, old boy, just focus and think, surely there is some dribble left over from one of John's many verbal lashings on sentiment and the like. After what you have just gone through, you can piece it together, just slip in and out quickly._

Sherlock took a small breath and closed his eyes, weary of leaving Molly alone in such a state for too long, and began to dig through his mind palace.

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Molly found herself stuck, in between shock, excitement and utter fear. There were too many worries, too many things that she didn't have answers to. She'd just slept with Sherlock, he said he loved her, she finally had him. Yet, why now, after they had just done the most intimate act of self expression did she feel like her world was falling apart? Why did she feel like her world had changed beyond anything that she could handle?

Her mind was racing, trying to put things together, e everything over the past 24 hours, the past 48 hours, he'll, the past two months! Looking for hints that Sherlock had shown signs of interest before his run through Eurus's labyrinth. Any signs, any hint or clue that could bring them to this moment logically.

Because Molly had a fear, an overwhelming and sickening feeling that if Sherlock had never had to deal with his sister, he never would have done what he had just done. He would be off, living his life, leaving Molly to pine after him, to try and fail to move on over and over like some desperate and broken computer trying to work without the last twenty years worth of updates.

She felt numb, then she felt elated, then she felt dread and then nothing….just some placid state of purgatory. What would happen now? Were they together, finally? Was this Sherlock trying to express how much she meant to him? Real love? Or a side effect of post traumatic stress.

She had felt Sherlock wipe up the mess on her thighs, something she should consider absolutely kind and endearing. Yet, as he cleaned her, she felt humility, even shame...she didn't know why….what had changed? While they had been intimate she knew it was everything she had hoped for, everything she had ever wanted. Sherlock Holmes was her white knight, her prince charming...even if he wasn't what the stereotype stock character should be, he was everything to her….yet she was now frozen with some kind of mental malfunction and she couldn't figure out for the life of her why.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to cheer, and now she was suddenly exhausted. She dared a glance to him, he was in his mind palace, she could tell by his unemotional features, but the way his eyes moved under his closed lids. Why? Was he suddenly as confused and stuck as she was? Had they crossed some invisible line laid down by the God's that stated they had never been meant to go down this path?

Earlier she had been mad, been livid….then she understood and felt compassion and regret for her actions, now...she didn't know what she felt and seeing Sherlock had gone into his mind palace, it made her fears worse, made that anxiety worse and her legs gave. She sat on the edge of John's old bed, slowly looking around the room and realizing that it was the end. It was over, nothing was going to be the same.

They had ruined something special...something unspoken...and yet she would never take it back. Tears started to roll down her cheeks and though she didn't outright sob, Molly knew her life as she knew it had just ended, whatever came tomorrow would be new, different...it would be a new era.

Molly wasn't sure if she could handle it.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock came out of his mind palace to find Molly sitting on the bed, tears flowing down her face but no noise coming from her lips. He smiled at her gently, a small thing and let out a slow breath. He knew what was wrong, and thanked John mentally for everytime the man had ever rambled incessantly about sentiment, romance and women.

Slowly, he moved forward, gently wrapping his arms around the small woman and lifting her up. Her head automatically rested on his shoulder, a sniffle escaping her nose.

"Easy Molly. Just breath." He whispered softly and he left the room heading for the bathroom.

He set her down on the toilet when he arrived, pressing the door shut with his foot. He then turned on the water and filled the bath, adding his favorite salts and oils, though often saved for special occasions.

When the tub was full enough he turned off the tap, picked Molly up and set her in slow, allowing her time to adjust to the hot water. He then got in behind her, stretching himself out under her and pulling her to lay on his chest.

With a rag he gently cleaned her, wiping her face, chest, arms and stomach. The entire time allowing the silence to be nothing but what it was.

When he had finished his ministrations he lay back, Molly's head on his chest just under his chin, her legs bent and feet resting between his.

Finally, after he figured he had waited long enough he placed a kiss on the top of her head, "Things are going to change now, you know that, right?"

Molly nodded but said nothing, "You're worried about it, yes?"

Another nod.

"Molly, whatever change may come, whatever friendship we may have just lost, what we have just gained is much more. It's different, but it isn't the end...it's a new beginning."

Her head gently lulled to the side and she let out a soft breath, Sherlock thinking of the best way to approach her shock. That is all this was, true shock. It wasn't the act of sex, or the things that had been said during the act. It was the meaning behind it. Maybe they should have waited, let the dust settle a bit, but in all honesty dating wasn't his thing. With Sherlock it was always all or nothing, the middle ground was boring and often times complicated things. In Sherlock's mind, this new situation was simple, easy to adjust to..

In Molly's mind, this was a huge step in a direction outside of their normal relationship and they hadn't eased into either. As not normal as molly hooper was, in some ways she was the most normal out of all of them. She was struggling with the idea that they were now together, dating, to coin a rather archaic phrase. To her it was a change, to Sherlock the only difference was that now they were having sex.

As stubborn as Sherlock could be with the most simple of changes, this one did not bother him, it was an easy choice. Somehow, he had to make her understand that everything would change and nothing would change and there was no shame in their sudden dalliance, nothing to worry about in regards to what people might think.

"We've known each other eight years, we have had a set dynamic and quite a few unspoken but known rules about how we have learned to coexist together. You are in shock, because one minute you knew where you stood with me, and now you do not. I can only offer this to you, in hopes it will alleviate your concern, I do not think of this as anything but what it is. We are now together. I do not want anything or anyone else. I do not expect you to change, nor do I expect you to adjust to my own strange habits and behaviors. I know I will need to adjust some of my own eccentricities. But I know you will be patient with me. I am not afraid to take this leap, I need to know you feel the same. If not, well, we can handle that too."

Finally, Molly seemed to come round, shifting just enough to be able to look up at his face, "Have I ruined the only good thing in my life? Was I so desperate for you, that I would let sex get in the way of a good long standing friendship? Were we pushed together only because your sister made it happen? Are we doomed to fail?"

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, knowing first hand that hugs were invaluable for comforting those who were unsure or scared, and then let out a sigh, "Probably, but instead of dreading it all, look at it as an adventure… if nothing else….you know it won't be boring."

And finally, to Sherlock's immense relief, Molly gave a small smile, and she leaned up and gave a chaisted kiss to his cheek. "I love you." She murmured.

"Dido." He mused and he took up her face and kissed her lips tenderly. More than happy that not even an hour into their relationship, he had handled their first crisis just right.


	3. Chapter three

A/N: So this is the long awaited version three. It was a pain to write and I want you all to know this isn't edited. All run ons bad grammar etc are on me.

Warnings: lemon lemon fighting blood lemon

Also, halfway through I realized my parts got to be too many so I gave up labeling them. Enjoy the inconsistency. This is my first time ever writing a story on a smartphone so I had some spacing errors and I can not tell if I fixed them.

Last but not least the first half of the story was written in a sort of quasi past tense...as some of you may know I have been experimenting with my tenses. The first part is supposed to be in Molly's head and after the kiss it should change to current tense.

Sorry but I can't help playing around with my writing. ENJOY!

Version Three

Part I

Molly doesn't know why she does it. Maybe it's out of anger, that would make sense because honestly she is boiling inside.

It has been nearly eighteen hours since that phone call, six more would make it twenty-four and thus far the amount of sleep she has gotten is closer to two than the eight she normally preferes.

All together the math should explain her anger, irritation and indignation. Still, she somehow knows it's more than that.

That phone call was only the beginning, tears, sobs and a hopeless hour on the floor of her kitchen had followed.

Then there was the call into work, for Stacy was destined to be "sick" and Molly was fated to be the only one available.

The petite pathologist would have been grateful for the reprieve from her usually boring night if things had been different.

Toby had passed today, and two days prior to that her mother had been diagnosed with a very severe Cancer.

She had not been having a good day.

She had fallen away from her mother when her father had died, but now, as her brothers were in America with their perspective families it would fall to the woman's youngest child to help her through her last days and take care of the arrangements after...

After...the end.

So by the time she had got home from visiting her mother she was emotionally drained and filled with a large amount of guilt and anxiety. Toby fell sick two days later of unknown causes and Molly felt she was at her breaking point.

Then the phone rang...

If it had been any other day she may have handled it better.

If it had been any other day she wouldn't have had a problem working for Stacy...or Meena...or Grant...or anyone for that matter.

They always asked her and she always said yes.

But today she had felt nothing but resentment, for the first time in her life her anger was not just bubbling but seething out of her like steam from a kettle.

She went to work all the same because the two plus bottles of unopened wine looked much too good for someone who was alone with multiple forms of heartbreak.

Halfway through her shift she was snatched up by a stranger in a suit. They said her boss was taken care of and that she was to be brought to the station.

Molly sat for another few hours, her jaw clenching and unclenching harder and harder with each hour that passed.

Finally, she was greeted by Greg and he promised her answers.

She watched a dvd in black and white of the terror that John, Mycroft and Sherlock had all faced and eventually conquered only hours before.

The truth of it all splashed onto her and she reacted much the same as a live wire. Her body popped and fizzled with so many thoughts, feelings and emotions she almost didn't hear Greg as he finished the debriefing.

When he asked her if she had ever seen Sherlock's sister before she looked down and that is when the lid on her tightly sealed aggression burst.

That women had been talking to her on the tube for the passed several weeks, Molly had been planning to invite her out for a girls night with her friends...

Standing abruptly, Molly had ignored the calls from Greg and walked straight for the door.

Instructing her nameless driver to take her to Sherlock she found herself arriving only minutes later and realized it was a massive building called the Diogenes club.

The driver had tried to warn her it was not a place that usually let women in but she slammed the door in his face and marched.

She went through to the main entry ignoring the man waving his arms wildly but not saying a word and smacked her hands down on the desk and nearly bared her teeth as she said in all her learned womanly venom, "Sherlock Holmes, NOW!"

Her voice had echoed and the man behind the desk went visibly pale at the look she was surely giving.

He pointed down the hall but as she went to move, the man from the door had taken her arm and tried to pull her out, which left Molly no choice...she boxed his ear in three seconds flat.

"Sherlock Holmes now, or I will make the most blatant and petulant display a woman can possibly make..that may include screaming rape and tossing my knickers onto the chandelier...your choice door man."

He swallowed, made a motion down the hall and Molly followed it. His body lagging behind her as she stormed through.

Hearing an all to familiar bass coming from behind a rather old looking pair of solid oak sliding doors she knew she was there and with one hand pushed them aside, still dragging the red faced doormen with her.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" she said loudly and the three men in the room looked at her in their own version of shock.

Mycroft stood, John and Sherlock remained seated and finally Molly had released the poor man's ear.

"Thank you for the directions, now go kick someone else out for their lack of testicals."

She turned then and at the sight of the three, their haggard faces, red eyes and utter silence she felt her anger cool just a tad.

"Miss. Hooper, I assume there is a good reason you are barging in to my private room and accosting the doorman at such an ungodly hour?"

"Don't." She said, her voice dripping with a kind of murderous tone that no one wanted to argue.

Mycroft looked at her with confusion and Molly pointed a finger, "Sit. Down. Now."

Slowly the man did and this seemed to surprise John and Sherlock to an alarming degree.

She waited a minute before she said anything else, swallowed once...then twice before she finally gathered her resolve and turned to look at them, honey brown eyes meeting icy blue ones.

"Sherlock, come here...now...to me." slowly the man stood and she saw he had tightened his body, he was preparing for blows, for a verbal assault for anything that was going to be everything he really couldn't take right now.

When he was before her he looked down with a calm yet worried expression.

Molly took a breath and finally said what she had always wanted to say to him.

"I've done a lot for you. I've met every demand, always done everything you've asked. I have taken your insults and your bashing and your false flattery...disobeyed rules, ignored my morals and even broken the law...all for you."

"I know." had been his only reply, his voice soft and gentle.

"I understand why...I saw the security footage, I get it. But, at the time when that phone call happened I didn't know. Do you understand me?"

"I do." he said softly again, his eyes seemingly growing less worried and more confused.

"Then you know my truth...I love you. I love you so bloody much and I can't stop it. I've tried...so hard I have tried but I can't and I don't want to try anymore."

She almost broke down but she shook her head when he reached for her and stepped back, "No, let me f-finish...it is important because I also know your truth Sherlock...I heard you say it on the phone."

This caught him off guard and he looked at her with wide eyes, before he cleared his throat nervously and sent a stray glance to his brother and John. Molly acknowledged it with a nod of her head and she sniffed before saying in a more sober voice, "I know that too, Sherlock. I won't use it against you, I won't ask anything of you in the future either. But today...only today, I want what you owe me."

The silence had been thick, John and Mycroft were thoroughly confused by the words she had spoken but Sherlock seemed to understand, "When?" he asked with narrowing eyes.

Molly looked about the room for a moment before she saw a small rubbish bin next to Mycroft's desk. Crossing to it, she picked it up and turned it over before him, ignoring Mycroft's call of a frustrated, " Excuse me!"

Sherlock had held up a finger to silence him as he looked back to Molly who now stood upon the bin.

"Right now." she had said with near regret in her voice at the act she was seemingly forcing him to do.

She didn't know why she had done it, maybe it was the eighteen hours without sleep, the loss of her beloved cat or her sickly mother. Whatever the case, before God and two witnesses she reached out her hands to take up Sherlock's face, closed her eyes and leaned in.

She didn't wait for him to initiate, this was her reward for years of loyal service. She would claim it, take the burden from him and savour this one moment she had been given.

When their lips had met, he had hesitated to open up to her but she coaxed his lips apart and seconds later he was eager enough to suit her wants.

Molly finally received the one thing she had wanted more than anything else from this man.

As he kissed her back, their tongues twisting and breaths merging, she felt for the first time his full acceptance of her.

Sherlock accepted who she was, how she felt and her unrequited and seemingly unsolvable love for him.

He accepted all of her and was readily committed to stay in her life despite it. She could love him, be in love with him and he would not turn away from her for it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and to her delight he indulged her by placing his hands faintly on her hips.

He even tilted his head to the side to allow her better access and she moaned despite the other two people watching.

Her womanhood was inflamed with want, her knees weak but still she persisted because this was it. Once she pulled away there were no more lustful kisses from Sherlock.

After this, there would probably be no pecks on the cheek either. A sad little whine escaped her throat at the thought and Sherlock's hands seemed to tighten on her minutely.

When she finally pulled away she sighed and placed her forehead to his, hot breaths passed his lips and rolled across her face, " I love you Sherlock Holmes. Nothing will ever change that. I'll see you at Bart's the next case you get. I'll have that liver you wanted waiting, bagged and on ice."

She saw his wide eyes, swollen lips and ruddy red cheeks and gave a soft smile, "Sorry I disturbed you gentlemen. Have a good evening."

The mild shock on his face slowly melted into understanding.

Sherlock nodded once as he slowly pulled away, adjusted his suit and clearing his throat before saying in a cold tone of indifference, "Thank you, Dr. Hooper that will be all."

Molly nodded, her face finally returning to its calm and neutral expression, she turned to go with a contented heart and a bit of a randy gait which she tried to hide.

"Wait wait whoa, what the bloody hell just-"

"Miss. Hooper was just collecting payment for services rendered John, do try to keep up."

Sherlock had returned to his old self and picked back up where he had left off with Mycroft before Molly's most feminist entry. Both men seemed quick to forget it but John was far from ready to move on.

Molly had already walked from the room heading for the door when he caught her up and stopped her with a gentle hand to her shoulder.

"Molly! Molly, wait!"

She turned to him and was happy to feel her normal friendly affections for him had returned.

"I'm fine." she said before he had even started.

"Like hell you are. what was that about? What did he say to you on the phone?"

"It's nothing." She tried to leave again but he took her hand with his left one and brought his right to her face, ever so gently turning her back to him, a palm cupping her cheek.

"Molly, please, what was that about?"

"Ask Sherlock." She said for she suddenly realized that with her anger gone she felt normal again, another person caught up in the whirlwind affairs of a bunch of grown up boys playing games. She didn't feel empowered or clever or have the right to share the secrets she now knew for certain were true.

"You know damn well he won't breathe a word to me. As far as he is concerned it's done. Whatever that was, its over. So, I want you to tell me because after the day I've had I refuse to be kept in the dark about anything ever again."

"It's what he said. He was finally paying me for-"

"No!" John said louder than intended and Molly jumped a little realizing only moments ago that had been her, making people jump and fill with anxiety and she suddenly felt guilty.

"No. I don't believe that. You...he...Sherlock wouldn't put everything you've done for him down to just a kiss. He owes you a lot more than that and he knows it. We all do."

She gives him a content look and takes his hand in her own, lowering it from her face and holding it.

"It's all I wanted. It's repayment enough."

"Dammit Molly, you don't owe him anything...why are you just accepting-"

"What else can I do?" and they stare at each other for a few moments.

The understanding she hopes to see in John's eyes comes slowly and has to fight through a lot of stubborn thoughts.

"I got what I came for. Be happy for me. I'll see you next case, yeah?"

John gives her a sour face, she can tell he wants to argue more but lets out a breath of air and then nodded, " Okay, sure...yeah...fine...I guess. But if you ever need to talk..." and he stops again, stares at those honey brown eyes and gentle smile and after a second gives a small one of his own.

"God damn lump doesn't deserve you." John hugged her tightly. "None of us do. Get some rest alright? Maybe I can come round tomorrow, bring Rosie?"

"Sounds lovely. See you then."

Molly never saw John turn around to find Sherlock standing there and even if she had his face was empty of all emotion.

On the inside though, his emotions were erratic and a feeling known to those many who embraced such things, as jealousy, had reared its ugly head.

Part II

Nearly two months later found everyone sinking back in to their normal routine. It had taken some time, owing to the fact that Baker street had to be cleaned up. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock moved back in, the issues with Eurus's security evaluated and Sherlock's parents debriefed and their wishes on how to precede heard and resolved.

It was in the first of the two months that Sherlock had started taking up cases again, Lestrade all too eager to have his posh bloodhound back on the trail of all the badies of London.

The second month was their first visit into Bart's for a case and Molly was relieved to see Sherlock much more his old self.

John had taken to calling on Molly several time a week to have lunch, go for a stroll in the park with her and Rosie or watch a movie at his flat.

It became rather domestic to a degree but Molly didn't mind. Nor was she uncomfortable with having both a man and a baby more heavily planted in her life. She knew their relationship was platonic but it made her feel far less lonely and she thought John might agree with that sentiment.

Sherlock rarely joined them but when he did he seemed determined to plant himself sharply between them, keeping their communication and physical contact to a minimum.

Molly had a feeling Sherlock didn't like having to share his best friend with her but she was at the point where she felt she had every right to have a friend in John.

They had worked together for years now and John had always come to her defense when Sherlock pushed her too far or tried to get her to do things for him.

He was like a big brother and she took comfort in the fact that she had a defender of sorts, and for the first time in a long time she felt safe and content.

She had started to notice things about him that she never had before. His eyes were very warm and understanding, his humour was clever and quick despite what Sherlock would often say and he was in every sense of the word a charming, gentle and considerate man.

She wished she had noticed sooner, though she could admit that due to her affinity for Sherlock John had always been cased to the shadows.

He was different now, somehow finding a way to stand out in comparison to his rather brightly lit friend and make his own spotlight.

Molly didn't even consider the possibility of something forming between them but some days she did wonder and wondering always leads to what if's.

It was by the end of the second month that something unusual happened, something that would change her life forever.

Part III

"Hey, Molly!" she turned to the morgue doors and a smile lit her face. Sherlock walked in after John, face zoned in on his phone.

"John! What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to Dorset for a case."

The blonde man walked right up and took her arms before leaning in to kiss her cheek in a friendly manner.

"Went and got back pretty quickly, the case was too easy."

Molly glanced to Sherlock and when he didn't seem to be interested in the conversation she turned back to John, "So what brings you two in then, another case?"

"Ah...no actually. I wanted to stop by...well...to talk to you.." he glanced to Sherlock and then back to her before he said softly, "Ahm, look, it's a little strange I'm sure but I have done a lot of thinking and was just wondering...if you're not busy tonight...would you maybe want to...you know...do something?"

Molly smiled and nodded, "Oh yes, that'd be lovely, taking Rosie to the park then?"

"Hm, no I was thinking...maybe just you and me? I mean, if your comfortable with that. Give us both some time to breath, let Mrs. H have some time with the her. She does nag if I don't let her sit once and awhile."

This gave Molly pause and once again she glanced at Sherlock whose eyes were still on his phone but he was nowhere near as absorbed. She could tell, he was listening, but for what reason she did not know.

"I...I'd enjoy that...perhaps dinner?"

"And a movie." John added on and Molly nodded, feeling a small amount of shock hit her.

"Great...yeah...I'll pick you up around...eight?"

"Fine, yeah...great." she said suddenly feeling nervous.

"Great." he said again with a rather charming smile, "See you then."

Molly wasn't normally so bold but her mouth was open and moving before she could stop herself, "John?"

He stopped and turned back to her with a curious look on his face, "Is this...um...c-casual dress?"

He stared at her a moment, eyes flicking between her and Sherlock before he walked back up to her and leaned close to her ear, "As casual as you want, but um, if I had a choice that green summer dress of yours was always a favorite of mine."

Molly nodded as he leaned away and John gave a rather roguish smile as he turned to go, Molly's face displaying her confusion on the matter of essentially being asked on a date by a man she thought was not interested in her as a potential mate.

"Okay." she said in that light breathy voice she got when she was caught off balance.

She noticed someone was still there and glanced over to see Sherlock staring at her with hard narrow eyes. "Did you need something?"

He looked a moment longer before he turned away without a word and followed John out.

Part IV

John sat across from Sherlock in the cab, his dark blue eyes staring at his friend who was staring out the window. The man hadn't said a word to him, not asked any questions or made awful comments at his expense. In fact he was being so unresponsive to the situation John felt like his plan was working.

That's right, John Watson had a plan.

Two months ago is when it had started, the day after the incident with Molly at Mycroft's club.

"You alright?" he asked casually, keeping his demeanor as relaxed as possible.

When his companion did not respond John tried again, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" The man said finally, those cold blue eyes didn't seem so cold as they met each others gazes. Those eyes once so often detached or filled with a juvenile excitment looked stormy even though his expression remained neutral.

"You alright, mate?"

"Yes, fine." he said quietly and John could hear everything he had hoped he would hear in that one little phrase.

Sherlock was brooding, John knew why and that meant that for once in his entire time knowing the man before him he might not know at all what John was up to. He couldn't allow himself to be tricked though, any sense of security he had could be false.

He had to keep the facade up, had to keep it as real as possible. Molly couldn't know his feelings for her were platonic and that all this was just a means to an end.

Sherlock couldn't know John was trying to do what he thought was truly best for his friend.

John could not reveal anything until the time was absolutely right.

The entire thing was bloody ridiculous but if he had learned anything at all from the man who sat across from him it was that if you want a lie to seem like the truth you have to commit to it, 100 percent and then some.

He had to be willing to make people uncomfortable, make them suffer in their own way to get them to believe it.

Molly was clearly uncomfortable with his sudden advances, Sherlock was obviously jealous or at the very least territorial in regards to his pathologist.

That's what clued John in on the situation in the first place. How Sherlock had intervened when he and Molly had started to spend time together.

Constantly belittling John for spending so much time with her, trying to keep him busy with cases or by having him over for no reason at all.

Sherlock would complain so much John would eventually invite him along. The man would come only to bitch the entire time, the whole while planting himself firmly between John and Molly.

That's when his brain, apparently just as slow as Sherlock had always said it was, made the connection.

Sherlock loves Molly.

The evidence was there, all the times Sherlock had chased off Molly's previous boyfriends and lovers, the chaste but suggestive kisses he gave all the time...the violent destruction of her would be "coffin" that Eurus had acquired.

Sherlock had it bad, but it was obvious he was determined to keep it to himself. John found though, he could no longer allow it. Sherlock wanted Molly and Molly wanted Sherlock and both were too set in their ways to change it.

John was determined to help them find each other and accept their feelings. To do that though he was going to have to play dirty, and if the long ago incident of Irene Adler was any indication, if you tempt him he would come.

Part V

Sherlock was boiling inside.

Originally he was just stewing, when he had witnessed that intimate moment between John and Molly in the hall at the Diogenes club.

Over the past two months that stewing had turned to a gentle simmer as he noticed John and Molly spending an inordinate amount of time together.

After today though, today Sherlock was practically boiling. He wasn't mad at Molly, never could he be truly mad at her. She didn't know any better, couldn't see what was going on.

Molly did not see the manipulation or the danger and John Watson was not interested in her, he wasn't after a long term relationship.

John Watson was using her to get off and it made perfect sense while also eliciting some unwanted and extremely aggressive emotions from him.

Molly was aware of John's life and the man's relationship to Sherlock, she knew about Mary and Rosie and John's lifestyle. If you thought about it, Molly might have been perfect for John in another life. She was a doctor and so was he, and despite their differences they could work well together in the raising of baby Rosamund. In fact even their height was complimentary.

Considering the events of the past few months John may have made the realization that Sherlock was never going to pursue Molly, that he was not interested in anything other than a strictly platonic relationship and he soon decided he could use Molly's lack of significant other and her large sex drive for his own nefarious purposes.

Well, Sherlock was not a fool. He could see right through this blond haired companion. John had been quite a ladies man before Mary, a new one every few weeks.

However, Molly was not just some woman who could be popped in and out at a moments notice. If John ran amuck with this he could ruin everything.

Molly was Sherlock's, she had been his pathologist and resident crusher long before John was in the picture.

She had liked Sherlock for three years, loved him for five as far as he could deduce. The extent of her love had never been clear to him until that phone call, until that moment in Mycroft's rooms at the Diogenes Club.

She couldn't be swayed away from him, not truly, but she could settle. If she decided to give up on Sherlock and indeed settle for John they would be nothing but miserable after the first few years.

No, Molly wouldn't be happy with less than the best and in her mind at least that was Sherlock. She was his, belonged with him. But unless Sherlock made a move, unless he told John to stand down his "charming" friend might move in and Molly may actually fall for it.

He had to intervene but how to do it without letting John on to the fact that he had already laid claim.

More anger boiled at the thought because it was quite obvious to anyone who paid attention that Sherlock had laid claim a long time ago.

He kept the other men away, chased them off if necessary. He kept Molly close and persuaded her with compliments, making sure she always had hope. He dazzled her with deductions and his logic and made sure she knew how invaluable she was to him in her assistance at the hospital and getting him body parts.

It was completely sociopathic but had Sherlock ever claimed to be anything else?

No, this would not do. Sherlock had to find a way to talk John down. He had to make the man see reason. Molly was not meant for him, she was meant to be Sherlock's, and while he had no intention of feeding into sentiment or becoming Molly's significant other he sure as hell was not going to let her be with anyone else.

Come hell or high water John Watson would be stopped. Sherlock would make sure of it.

Part VI

Molly looked at herself in the mirror and tried to give a smile but it came off as worried and insecure more than confident and excited.

The green dress fit her perfectly, both complimenting her tiny figure while also showing off some of her better attributes including her waspy waist and wider than expected hips.

Despite the fact her boobs were small, something Sherlock had never neglected to pointing out over the years, this dress and her strapless push up made them look delicate yet full.

She loved this dress, had actually bought it a long time ago in hopes that it may draw the eye of a certain detective. Alas, it had been no better than the tight black thing she had purchased for that dreadful Christmas party so long ago.

"When will you learn?" she asked her reflection. Sadly there was no response.

She finished plaiting her hair and putting on a very light amount of makeup before she glimpsed herself again and headed for the living room.

Ten minutes later came a knock on the door and as Molly grabbed her coat she took a deep steadying breath.

She could do this, she could go on a date with a friend to see how it went right? She was allowed to extend the window of opportunity as far as she wanted.

A date didn't mean sex or a relationship, they were just testing the waters. They weren't even really compatible but perhaps they had just enough in common they could try-

A second knock came on the door and Molly nearly jumped at the sound. She swallowed grabbed her cardigan and reached for the knob.

Part Whatever

John walked down the stairs that led up to his old room, "Thanks, mate." John said as he finished adjusting his belt.

He moved into the main room only to find Sherlock staring out the window, his suit still firmly in place despite the fact that by now he had usually slipped from his clothes and into his rob.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he noticed the stiffened posture of the man before him. He hid his smile and went about his business, grabbing up his coat and making sure he had his phone and wallet.

"Sherlock!" John tried again more firmly and the man finally turned to him and his eyes seemed to refocus.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks, for letting me have a change and drop of Rosie. Mrs. H has her for the night so you don't have to bother her..." the silence was thick and John cleared his throat, "Unless of course, I don't know...you'd want to."

Sherlock gave him a confused looked so John amended, "Rosie. You know, spend time with your goddaughter."

"Right, of course... yes... I will."

"Good. Right, well I guess I'm off. I will see you in the morning. Don't wait up."

John had turned to go when he was stopped by a call from his friend, the man sounded positively livid.

"Pardon?"

John turned back, keeping his face neutral and his body relaxed, "What?" he questioned right back.

"You just said not to wait up..."

John realized casual behavior may have just cost him the chance to help his friends. Any little thing could trigger than man's brain. Too many syllables or incorrect emphasis on a certain word and suddenly your dastardly plan is finished.

"Yes, I did." John said, trying to retain his confidence even though it felt as if it was slipping.

"Where will you be staying if not here? Are you going home after your…"

"Date." John offered up in his normal tone of irritation.

"Yes, your date with Molly." John could hear the venom in the man's voice even though Sherlock hid it expertly well. It was there all the same, the jealousy and discomfort.

"I don't know where I met end up. Could be home, could be here...could be anywhere."

The pause was long, Sherlock looking away for a moment and John could see the man's head cranking in thought on how to put a stop to this.

"You know, I am….happy for you John." The man said slowly.

This caught John off guard and he cocked his head to the side as he looked out from under a down turned brow.

"What?" John nearly snapped in shock.

"I am...happy for you...and Molly...that you're...happy... together."

John was thrown, he couldn't tell if Sherlock was being sincere or if he had figured out John's plan and was trying to buy time to figure out how to respond in kind.

Leave it to Sherlock to get it sorted and decide he needed to repay a dirty trick with something even worse.

"I...thank you. Even though I don't need your approval."

"Yes. Of course not." and the man turned and picked up his bow and violin very slowly, with an air of contemplative thought. He started to play and turned to face the window.

John watched him a few seconds more and decided he was going to take the chance and continue on with his plan.

"I suppose I owe you." Sherlock called after him a moment later and John darted his head back into the room.

"What? What did you say?"

"I owe you, for getting Miss. Hooper off my back with her overwhelmingly dull little crush." And Sherlock turned towards him sharply, eyes dark as he flicked his bow up from his strings and pointed it at John, "I. O. U." he said in a deep quiet voice.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" John asked, his anger actually rising at how vague his friend was being.

"Enjoy your date, John." And Sherlock went back to playing.

ANOTHER PART

The date had gone well, John had taken her to Angelo's and then to a rather suggestive romantic comedy. It had been tense at first but after awhile they had both seemingly relaxed and had a surprisingly great time.

They were on there way back to Molly's flat, having decided to walk they talked and laughed the whole way.

"So the post mortem indicated that Jane Doe had been strangled but there was a huge amount of water in the lungs, no indication of it having been the actual cause of death. She was strangled to death first then water was put into her lungs."

"And Sherlock wasn't interested?" John asked in surprise.

"Not really, said it was absurdly simple but wouldn't tell Greg why. He was extremely hard to work with those first few years until he got more comfortable. Then you came along and the rest is history."

John smiled at that and they walked in silence for awhile until finally they were at her door. Molly could tell John was nervous so she decided to be the one to make the first move.

"Would you like to…..come in for a cuppa?" she knew how nervous she sounded and was relieved when John nodded but added, "For a minute."

They sat at her kitchen counter, continuing talking about life, work and love. It was the last of the three that seemed to make the conversation turn towards more delicate waters.

"I know you miss her. I do too. But you are doing so well and Rosemund is turning out brilliant because of you. Mary would be so proud."

John nodded, "Maybe." Was all he had offered and Molly could tell he was thinking of something and debating on whether or not to ask.

Seemingly making up his mind he plunged ahead but what he asked took her by surprise.

"Molly-"

"Yes?" She inquired setting her cup aside and looking at him with a smile.

"When Sherlock….Eurus called you…. Made Sherlock call you….whatever….you said you weren't having a good day… can I ask why?"

Molly's smile had faded and she thought about it a moment, digesting the question and realizing she had no reason to hide the truth.

"Two days before the call my mother….she was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer."

John stared at her a moment and then cleared his throat awkwardly, "God I'm sorry, it was stupid of me to...I shouldn't have asked. Are you okay? I mean it's been nearly two months is she...has she?"

"It's alright. No, she hasn't passed. It's just about making her comfortable now. I visit on my off days and call her the days I work. My brothers went to America and have families now so-"

"So it's on you." John finished for her. Molly nodded, "I was dealing with it relatively well until two days later. I had to put Toby down."

John looked around him, "I was wondering about that. Didn't see him when we came in."

"Then the phone call that afternoon."

"That explains a lot. About your appearance at the club and...the kiss. How was that by the way, everything you hoped?"

"Molly finally smiled, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell John."

The blonde chuckled and nodded before he put down his tea and gave her a look but Molly rulled her lips together, raised her shoulders teasingly and shook her head.

A half hour passed of more flirting and general chatting each other up before John finally reached for his coat. Molly opened the door for him as he made to leave.

"Well, I had a great night Molly. I hope, really hope, we can do this again."

"I'd like that." John hesitated a moment and then sighed, looking back at her and saying softly, "So, if I can't hear about how bad a kisser Sherlock was….maybe you'd be willing to tell me how good I am?"

This caught Molly off guard but it only took her a second to make the decision to go for it and as she let John place a hand on her waist, cup her cheek with another she closed her eyes and gently parted her lips.

NEXT

John had not planned on kissing her, he just wanted to drag out the date as long as possible to make Sherlock as jealous as he could.

He had no intention of sleeping with Molly. Though, after the night he had had he was sorely tempted. Molly was different when she was away from the morgue, when she was relaxed and free to be herself.

Essentially, when she wasn't around Sherlock she was ever man's perfect woman. Agreeable, kind, funny and sensitive. Her intelligence was breathtaking because it was coupled with modesty, something even Mary couldn't manage on a consistent basis.

The kiss had been a spur of the moment impulse because he had actually wanted to kiss her good night and he found that as he leaned in he might actually hang Sherlock's wants and possibly give this thing he had started with Molly a try.

There lips met and she opened to him willingly, a submissive gesture he was not used to after being married to someone as dominate as Mary and he could not stop the small moan that escaped him.

He pulled her closer firmly and she gave a rather effeminate gasp which caused a heat to flare to life in his groin.

He pressed her back gently into the door frame, savouring this first contact with a woman since his wife had passed.

She didn't resist him, didn't try to dominate the moment or refuse his advances, ahe demanded nothing from him in this moment and was giving him complete control.

After much longer than he had intended he pulled away but did not release her, "Jesus Molly, sorry but I...you're...I'm so lonely and-"

Molly brought fingers to his lips and said softly, "I know."

"I didn't intend for this to go so fast. Honest, I don't want to ruin our friendship, but you're so...different….so different then I thought and I really want to...I need…."

"What do you need?" Molly asked so softly and John felt his heart sputter a little at that look in her eyes, the concern in her brow and as he went to respond with the only word that came to his mind, "Yo-AAH!"

SWITCH

Sherlock was knelt on the ground just beyond the entryway corner to Molly's flat.

When the door had opened he listened closely to see what was about to happen.

He had followed them the entire evening, never once being noticed, never once raising suspicion and as the hours ticket by his annoyance at the situation grew and grew.

It was nearing one in the morning now and as long as Molly kept her guard up he wouldn't need to interfere.

John's voice became clear seconds later and Sherlock braced for the outcome, "-really hope, we can do this again."

"I'd like that." Molly said and Sherlock could hear the appreciative smile in her voice, his stomach rolled with jealousy.

The following silence was telling as John did not make to leave and Molly did not close her door.

"Come on Molly, shut it." Sherlock whispered in anger.

"So, if I can't hear about how bad a kisser Sherlock was….maybe you'd be willing to tell me how good I am?"

And Sherlock felt his heart stop and his eyes bulge as he heard the man take a step forward and kiss Molly Hooper.

Damn. Sherlock muttered in his head, this left him with no options. Starting tomorrow he was going to have to….pursue….. His pathologist.

John had left him no choice, he would have to start small but any inkling of affection from him would make Molly turn away from John in a heartbeat. He could still win the day, but it would be on his terms.

He stood, straightened his coat and was about to leave, knowing full well it was just a kiss goodbye when something unexpected happened.

A moan escaped from the couple and seconds later a dull thump was heard and Sherlock's head poked around the corner to see John pressing Molly up against the doorframe.

The body language was telling and Sherlock could read it like it was yesterday's news.

While Molly was extremely strong willed, highly intelligent and by no means a damsel in distress she was exceedingly submissive by her vary nature.

John, who had always choose dominate women to take to bed, or marry for that matter, was not accustomed to such a thing and he was devouring it as if he was a pup on his mother's teet.

When he finally deigned to let her breath he sounded near in shock as he spoke, "Jesus Molly, sorry but I...you're...I'm so lonely and-"

"I know." Sherlock heard her say.

"I didn't intend for this to go so fast-"

LIER!

"Honest, I don't want to ruin our friendship, but you're so...different….so different then I thought and I really want to...I need…."

"What do you need?"

And with that phrase Sherlock felt something inside him snap, he tore off his coat and jacket, shoved up his sleeves (ignoring the buttons that popped off as he did) and tore down the hall just as John was about to speak and dove at John.

"Yo-AAH!" his friend yelled as Sherlock took him out with a solid slam to his lower torso.

His grasp on Molly had lifted instantly and as they tumbled to the floor John, not realizing it was Sherlock who had him, smashed a fist across his face.

Sherlock was near seeing red though and felt little to nothing as he rolled with the man across the floor.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled in surprise and at the use of his name the man below him yelled out in utter shock, "Sherlo-" the brunette smashed a fist across his friends face again before standing and halling John to his feet.

He planned to throw him out but was foiled when John retaliated with a punch to his stomach.

"Stop!" Molly cried out as she moved closer to try and intervene.

"Stay back Molly! Don't come near when he is-" Sherlock punched him again before he could finish.

Sherlock felt some of his anger subside as he was kneeling over his friend and saw the man's face. Blood was streaming from his nose and lip and a nasty black eye peered up at him.

"I see what you're doing! Don't think I don't!" Sherlock bellowed in that deep bass of his.

"What in the hell do you think I'm doing you bloody lunatic?"

"Making me look bad! You do this, all the time...always in front of her!" Sherlock stood but the blows John had managed to get off had disoriented him and he stumbled, just barely catching himself on a kitchen chair.

"I make you look bad, do I? You're the one coming in here like you're going to murder someone and I make you look bad?"

"Every time! Oh, Sherlock must be high, let's call Molly! Sherlock's having a tantrum let's complain to Molly! Sherlock's mental so let's just ignore him and become best friends with Molly! Sherlock can't love anyone so I'll just take his bloody pathologist! Well it's enough, Molly was mine long before you came strolling in with your hair and social skills and irrationally high need to get off! You've done it all haven't you! Had relationships, dated and sexed yourself up so much I could smell it on you then you got married had a baby and now you're even a widow! Do-it-all-Watson, that's who you are! Well, Molly is the only woman to ever like ME, the first one to ever love me and that love, sir, is MINE! So you can just sod the bloody hell off!"

And Sherlock stood, completely prepared to pick the brawl right back up, John stepped forward too but as they went to reignite the storm a small body came between them and Sherlock was stopped in his tracks by a pair of lips connecting with his own.

The scent of her perfume filled her nose and the same taste from before when he had kissed her in Mycroft's rooms, flooded his senses as her tiny frame pressed to his.

She pulled away seconds later and turned to John, spinning back only to hold up a finger and adamantly tell Sherlock (who had started to advance in protest) to wait, which he reluctantly obeyed.

"John, before anything between us can go any further….I have some things…..I need to work out with Sherlock. Do you mind if we cut tonight short and-"

"Of course, yeah." He said with a sigh and he tried his best to give her a smile, the cut on his lip made him wince half way through though and Molly winced back, "I have a first aid kit-"

"No, don't worry about it, honestly, just...uh...do your thing...whatever it is with that child and send me a text in the morning."

Molly nodded, "Yeah, of course."

John straightened his coat, gave a rather nasty glare to Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes in return, and headed for the door.

He stopped just out of it and turned back, "You're right, Sherlock. She is the only woman who has ever loved you. So, you better make your final decision tonight! Or someone else is going to move in mate, and guarantee he won't be stupid enough to let her go."

John was walking down the hall when Sherlock poked his head out after, "Yes! Just like that fool Tom didn't let her go! And I wouldn't bother with checking your phone in the morning, she'll be busy all day!" He slammed the door after and bolted it just to be sure.

His anger, having melted with Molly's kiss, left him feeling cold and he suddenly found he couldn't turn around. The palms of his hands were placed on the door before he sighed and rested his forehead there as well.

He had to face her, had to play this off as if it was no big deal. She would back down, she always backed down.

Several seconds passed in silence before he swallowed, "Right. Now that that is done-"

He turned around to see Molly standing there and he stopped, staring at her a moment before he felt a terror unlike anything he had ever felt flood his gut and he instantly went into auto-pilot.

"Well, see you at Bart's." He turned back to the door and tried to open it only to find he had locked it and he cursed as he went to undo the locks he had just closed.

"Sherlock?" Came Molly's quiet voice from behind and he winced at the sound of it.

He turned back around, finding the locks too difficult a thing to manage and quickly headed for the bathroom to go out the window.

"Have a good night, Molly." he said briskly but just as he was about to pass her she reached out and touched his arm, "Sherlock, wait-"

"No, no that isn't a good idea. I don't like it so I think I will just-"

"Sherlock Holmes, you will wait! You will talk to me about this or so help me God I will never waste another moment of my time on you!"

He stopped dead and looked back at her, "What?" He snapped.

"I mean it. I'll not play these games with you anymore." And Sherlock watched Molly stand up straight, her eyes growing defiant as she waited for him to respond.

Surely she didn't want to play this game with him, surely she knew if she tried she would lose. Still, he saw her challenge and decided to once again rise to it.

"Game? With you? What game could I possibly want to play with you?"

"This ludicrous game of not being able to love people...of not being able to love me."

"Oh, I see." And his tone grew dark and sultry as he readied for the kill strike, it was always too quick and easy with her, she didn't know how to play.

He walked up to her slowly, giving her a curious and yet doubtful look, he raised a hand and used a finger to gently move aside a loose strand of hair. Her eyes nearly fluttered closed but she kept them open in determined resolution.

Interesting. He mused as he realized he would have to ply her with more attention than usual if he was going to get out of this.

"You think I am in denial, that I am in fact totally smitten with you so I came in here and made a scene to chase off the only man who would probably ever make a truly good mate for you. Well, my darling Molly, you're wrong...what possible reason would I go to all that trouble? I already know you love me, why make such a fool of myself over something so defective as love?" And he caressed her cheek with his palm and watched as she sucked in a breath and fought those closing eyes of hers.

"B-because you do love me, I know you do. I heard you say it."

"I thought your house was going to explode, I would have said anything-"

"The second time...when you said it the second time."

"If you want a lie to be considered the truth you must commit one hundred percent."

He traced his hand down her throat, dragging a finger gently across her collar bone.

"Give up won't you, we can talk about this another time. Say, six months?" he cooed gently, "You look so lovely tonight, I'd hate to spoil it with a domestic."

"No, n-now." She said stubbornly, still fighting her desires to acquiesce as she was often ready and willing to do.

Sherlock heaved out a sigh and pulled away in frustration, "You're being obstinate. Just let it go."

Molly's eyes, which had been about to close, popped open and she looked after him as he headed for the bathroom, "I'll quit."

This made him stop and once again he was forced to turn around and stare at her in utter frustration, "Not very bright of you, finding another job in the same area would be rather difficult considering all the positions at the other hospitals are taken."

"I'll move." She said softly.

"Too expensive for you even with your income." He challenged again.

"I'll sell my flat, my car and use my inheritance."

"Inheritance? What inheritance? You have no close family...you are alone."

"Mum has cancer, she's leaving it to me and my brothers...but even then there is plenty to go around."

This gave him pause, for little Molly Hooper was not doing as she was told. She was playing the game like she always did but this time she wasn't losing. Her admittance of a sickly mother should have caused her to break down, but she was using it to her advantage, meaning she was acclimated to it, her mother had been sick awhile and the shock of it had worn off. He thought he might start to panic before he realized he had the winning argument.

"No," he started with a evil smirk, "picking up your whole life, selling your flat and car….spending your mummy's life savings, leaving all your friends behind just to get away from a man? You're more practical than that, it's not you're M.O."

"Isn't it? Considering what I've been through, the feelings that you've bashed up, the way I have suffered for my love of you, it would be the most practical option. If the one thing stopping you from being happy is the only thing you need to be happy….then the only remaining option is to get away from it. You'll not leave, not London. So, what do I always do when it comes down to me or you disagreeing?"

Sherlock thought a moment and then said in near devastation, "You back down-"

"I do, every time, always. Even at the end of that awful phone call...when you made me feel worse than I had ever felt in my entire life….I backed down. So, if I can't get over you….and you won't leave me to it...the only thing left that makes any practical sense…."

"Is to leave." Sherlock agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"This is it Sherlock. I need to make sure you absolutely understand. If you walk out the door...I won't be here when you come back."

He stared at her a moment, the worry and anxiety overtaking the cocky confidence that had been dancing in the back of his mind. He was so sure he could get in and out, get John out of the way and still retain the parameters of Molly's relationship with him.

But as he looked at her he realized that she had finally won, that phone call and his words giving her all the confidence she needed to finally give him the choice, love me or I leave.

"I know your truth, Sherlock. Now all that's left is to admit it. Not just to yourself but to me. Tell me your truth, do you love me?"

She stepped closer to him as she asked and he felt his heart clench as she did. His stomach was filled with what felt to be radioactive waste. The idea of speaking those words to her had been easier then expected when her life was on the line but now, in the quiet of her home, he felt trapped and foolish.

"I don't."

"Lier." She said softly and she moved closer. Sherlock backed up again only to trip up on a kitchen chair and sit down abruptly.

She came to stand before him, looking down, her hair was plaited just the way he liked it but she then began to take it out.

"Sherlock, do you love me?" She asked it casually, as if she was asking him how the weather was and if it might rain.

"No." He said softly, watching those fingers gently pull apart the plait and then run through her hair. It hung around her face in an unruly but attractive fashion. She looked down on him again and gently fisted her dress halfway up her thigh.

"Do you love me?" she began to pull the dress up and Sherlock swallowed as he said in a strangled voice, "No."

She moved forward then, crawling onto his lap and straddling him, resting her womanhood against his manhood, the heat from her near unbearable and he clenched his teeth.

She gently ran a hand through his hair and he tried to stifle a small betraying moan as her other hand came to his throat, her nails ever so gently stroking just below his ear.

She brought her lips just inches before his own and whispered softly, "Sherlock, do you love me?"

"No." He barely managed before she took his hands and guided them up her thighs and around to her arse.

"Why are you so scared?" She murmured so gently against his lips.

He dare not answer that, it would be too telling of his character and he could not show her that part of himself. So he answered her question with one of his own, one that he had always wanted to ask but never dreamed to voice.

"Why are people so conditioned to link sexual pleasure with love?"

"If you have to ask that question Sherlock, you'll never know." And she kissed his lips gently, just a small kiss before she looked at him and offered, "If you've never tried something how do you know you don't like it?"

"I've tried it. It's a gastly mess and humiliating to say the least. Worst case you get a disease, best case you don't knock her up...everything else is just a waste of energy."

Molly suddenly locked eyes with him and asked in all seriousness, "Have you ever had an orgasm?" She wasn't mocking him and no sarcasm was held in her words.

"Yes, every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday between two and four a.m. when I borrow John's laptop."

"John doesn't live with you anymore, Sherlock." She said with a smile.

"I know, the commute isn't worth the end result." She gave him a look of doubt and then said, "Have you ever experienced an orgasm by another person?" She clarified.

"Only if you include when my hand fell asleep… I did an experiment-" she kissed him again gently and he stopped talking long enough to let her.

When she pulled away again he couldn't remember what he had been saying and tried to recall, but she distracted him with a question, "Have you relaxed yet?"

"Relaxed? Of course I'm relaxed. What makes you think I'm not relaxed?"

"You were trembling earlier." She said knowingly.

"Yes, well, I'm currently in the process of being raped. How would you respond?" he offered with indignance.

"It's not rape if your a willing participant." she said next to his ear.

"Says you."

"Says everybody. Now, can you relax enough to let me show you something?"

"I'm not a child, Molly Hooper." He whispered out gruffly against her neck.

She didn't say anything else as she slowly slid away, coming to rest on her knees before him. Sliding her hands up his legs he watched her with narrow eyes and parted lips.

Sherlock felt his heart hammering, despite their long pause of murmuring to each other the last few minutes he found his anxiety had not calmed and his head was abuzz with half formed sentences and flashing words.

Danger, lust, repercussions and want swirling like a massive twister in his mind. Sherlock had succeeded in his mission to remove John from the picture but now he had to face down this new threat.

The all consuming need every human had to rut each other into the ground. Though he was trying to stay above it all, to keep his wits about him, when he heard his zipper and felt Molly's small hands go to work on his belt the fire in the pit of his stomach ignited.

"Molly, wait-" but she was quick to cut him off.

"Think of it as an experiment. You don't understand the reason people choose to engage in sexual experiences, then let's test your theories on the matter."

She removed his length shortly after and to Sherlock's horror he felt heat erupt on his face and his hands gripped the edges of his chair.

"Molly, I really think you should p-put that away before-" but she gently took him into her mouth before he could finish.

"Oh God, Molly...Molly wait-" but he couldn't stop her or what came next as he felt her slide down his length, the sensation overwhelming as he stomped his foot on the ground and gritted his teeth.

The pleasure was sharp, he fought his bodies desire to grunt, jerk and touch the back if Molly's head. He could almost feel his pupils dilate and heard how heavy he was breathing as the ecstasy of the moment came to an abrupt halt.

He erupted suddenly and came into her mouth, his first orgasm from another person arriving only seconds after she had started to suck on him.

The wash of humiliation came quick but he didn't understand why. Why were men considered such good lovers if they could last the night, why did he have to lose control so quickly? He had said John always made him look bad in front of her but this one was on him.

He couldn't look at her, instead choosing to look away and hide his shame . Why shame? Why humility, two of the worst feelings, the ones he hated the most, the ones he hid the best.

"You taste sweet." And he opened his eyes in shock at the statement, turning his head to look at her slowly. She was smiling up at him, no signs of being turned off by his low tolerance.

"I-is that good?" He asked in confusion, studying her face carefully to try and divine any negative impact he may have caused.

"Mm!" She nodded in approval and her smile grew, "Want to experiment some more?"

He watched her cautiously as she stood, holding her hand out to him and waiting patiently.

Slowly he reached out, his eyes never leaving her face, intent on catching any tells to her thoughts on the matter. She looked genuinely pleased with him and he felt his own bad feelings fade just slightly.

He finally took her hand and stood, his pants sliding down and he caught them quickly, Molly giggling lightly as she started to walk and as Sherlock followed he realized exactly where she was taking him.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock was led into her room and Molly let go of his hand long enough to shut the door behind him. They were plunged into darkness, only the street lights from outside providing a dim amber glow.

"It's dark." He said, even though she knew that, even though he was the world's only consulting detective, even though he was highly intelligent he stated the obvious in the most pathetic way possible and he suddenly felt that embarrassment again.

Apparently loss of emotional control went hand in hand with sexual gratification. It baffled him, even when he was taking care of himself he could still control his emotions and focus on a case if necessary. Not that he ever had a case on and did that at the same time, there was no need for it when he wasn't bored.

"First times can be...very intense. I thought you might prefer the first few times in the dark since your brain has a tendency to overwhelm you."

"First few times?" He asked softly, his brain growing hazy without the extra stimulation of his surroundings.

"Here, come with me Sherlock." She commanded softly and his feet moved on their own, his body feeling light.

"Lay down, stay relaxed." He complied and felt the bed dip next to him seconds later.

Not another word was said as he lay there in the dark, his mind wondering what was going to happen next even though he knew all the signs before him to mean just one thing.

A pair of hands came to the collar of his shirt and started to undo the buttons, working slowly all the way down. When his shirt lay open those same hands came to his stomach and gently rubbed all the way up and then back down.

It was very tactile, soothing and he closed his eyes to try and focus on this delicate moment.

"I could have let it go." Came her soft voice, barely above a whisper.

"Let what go?" He mused as fingers gently pulled his pants apart and messaging hands worked on his hip bones and lower abdomen. They were just above his groin but did not delve lower and slowly that fire which had fizzled out after his sudden loss of composure was starting to reheat.

"You and me. I finally got my kiss, got the acceptance from you that I needed to move on. I could have let it all go, but then you showed up here and ruined a perfectly good date. I thought you were being so intrusive because you didn't want me spending time with John, but that wasn't it. You wanted John away from me."

"He was sticking his nose where it didn't belong." Sherlock murmured.

"You've chased away a lot of potential husbands, in one way or another. But John was different, you saw his as a real threat...why?"

Sherlock didn't want to answer, the reasons were obvious but he couldn't admit them to her. Not because it was embarrassing but because he didn't want to give her pause to stop touching him.

Thankfully she didn't press him, more than likely because she was focused on touching him, but the thoughts about it played through his mind even though he tried to chase them away.

Johns not a drug addict, John has social skills, John isn't a sociopath. John would never verbally abuse you. John isn't so messed up in his head he sometimes can't sleep for days. John wants to embrace his emotions. John wants to find love. John is a better man than me. John is sexually experienced. John is better in every way.

Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes, he could just make out Molly's form in the dark. The thoughts of John had doused the fires Molly had been working steadily to build and his mind felt more collected and back to normal.

All he had to do was sit up and walk out, to hell with all this sentimental garbage. He could let Molly go, move on with her life and remain aloof to all these pointless sentimental ventures.

Just stand up and walk out, bury it all so far down it's totally repressed. Erase all memory of Molly Hooper and his love for her, however fragile and broken it was, never think of it again.

Just as he thought he might be able to get out of there after all, the confidence in his ability to suppress these feelings and urges building, Molly did something unexpected and moved to the side before leaning down and taking his length in her mouth again.

Sherlock sucked in air at the onslaught of pleasure and lust that suddenly hit him. "Again? Why are we doing this again?" He questioned, though now that he was laying down he found it was harder to speak and his body jerked and pulled tight more readily.

She didn't reply, continuing to gently suck on him and slide him in and out of her mouth. He lasted longer this time, red still splattered his cheeks from the humility and shame of it all but several minutes went by before his balls tightened and he shuddered his way to completion.

This time the orgasm wasn't so quick and sharp. As he came the pleasurable feeling throbbed out slower into the rest of his body and he found it was reminiscent of being high. Filling his body slowly over time and silencing his mind to a much greater degree.

He rode out the waves the best he could, trying to adjust to the new sensations as his own ministrations every other day were rather uneventful compared to this.

When it was over and the pleasure had faded he took a deep breath and looked down the length of his body at Molly who had sat up and seemed to be doing something in the dark.

"What are you doing?" He asked softly, deducing that she was removing her dress.

"Nothing." She said coyly.

"I'm in experienced, not stupid, your undressing... why?"

"That's how it's done."

"How what's done?"

"Sex." She said bluntly and Sherlock fell silent.

"Don't." Molly snapped.

"Don't? Don't what?" The offense in his voice was there but he knew damn well what she was going to say.

"Overthink this. Just enjoy it, experience it. This is an experiment isn't it? Treat it as such."

"This is a poor experiment if it is."

"Why?"

"If it was a real experiment all variables would need to be accounted for. Thus far, we have stayed within the limits of only two. Kissing and oral sex, the next variable, assuming we are working our way through each step of sexual gratification, would be for me to perform oral sex on you."

He had finished that thought softly as he realized what he had just said. Molly had grown still and sat there in silence, he could feel her watching him in the dark and it unnerved him.

Finally, she started to move and when she took his hand and gently pulled he sat up. She moved to lay down and Sherlock moved out of the way to accommodate her.

She guided his hands to her knees and when she finally lay back Sherlock felt her legs slowly part and in the darkness, lit only by street lights, she exposed herself to him.

He waited there before her, knowing he had several options as to how he could proceed. But, he was more curious about something else at the moment and so decided to voice his question, "How do you feel right now, Molly?"

"I'm excited, nervous….aroused…" she trailed off as her hands took his and guided them up her inner thigh, "It's up to you Sherlock, what variables do you want to add to our list?" Her voice was heavy with want, it surprised him greatly at how just having his hands so close to her heat could pull such a sound from her.

He let his hand continue to slide down even as her grip slipped away and eventually his fingers found a soft mound of hair. At the feeling of the soft wisps he found his arousal growing again.

Why? He thought to himself, instinctual of course, but this hair is no different than any other, more coarse, thicker...but its all the same.

His fingers grazed over the hair and Molly let out a soft sigh. His eyes darted up at the sound and his hormones seemed to increase for his prick grew harder.

His lips parted as he trailed a finger down and pressed through to her opening. It was extremely wet, hot and swollen.

"Christ." He cursed under his breath. He thought Molly would comment on it but she remained silent. Her breathing had intensified and her body trembled intermittently.

Sherlock locked his eyes onto her face, cast in shadow and amber light and watched with a sharp intensity as he slowly pushed a finger into her womanhood.

It was slick, hotter in than out and her muscles were contracting dangerously tight. Her mouth parted gently, brow furrowing in what seemed to be worry or concern, "Why do you look like that? Does it hurt?"

"W-what? No. Just, keep doing it...maybe add another finger." she barely managed to say as he gasped.

He complied, pulling out enough to add another and then slowly slid back in. She gave a soft moan and Sherlock cocked his head to the side. Now he was curious to the point of doing something else. He had seen it on one of those drab porns John liked to watch, he knew the human body well and decided to take a chance.

He routated his fingers, licked his lips in concentration and started to bend his joints locating the "g-spot" he had heard so much about and had learned about in one of his many biology classes in uni.

He would have deleted the information years ago but considering it was part of the human physiology and ninety percent of his murder cases were crimes of passion it had remained in the back of his hard drive, even though it had been seemingly useless at the time.

However, upon hearing the noise that came from Molly seconds later and the way her body jerked and squirmed beneath him he thought perhaps, for this experiment at least, the information wasn't so useless.

She gasped and groaned, her face screwing up in the most extreme sense of the word and he could barely make out her hands fisting at the bedding beneath her.

"Good?" He asked breathaly.

"Good! So, good, don't stop!" She moaned out and so he continued even though his hand was starting to cramp, even though his heart rate was increasing as he watched her and his prick was growing hard to the point of hurting.

Out of curiosity he raised his other hand up and brought a finger to her clit, flicking it once and Molly's back arched off the bed and she made a noise that caused a sort of alarm to go off in his head.

Do it, make her suffer. It was a strange sounding voice in his head, loud yet aroused and demanding but he seemed unable to resist and so he flicked her clit again and watched as she squirmed and her hips bucked in response.

He took to flicking it over and over, giving her no space in between and interestingly enough she started spouting blasphemy. He found it a humorous response and smirked at it, wishing he had a camera.

However, his humour fell away when instead of calling to the almighty she started calling to him. An ache started to build in him as she said his name like that, over and over between squirming and gasping, hips bucking and then her scent hit him.

She fell over and her muscles clenched around his fingers, the moisture between her legs doubling and a yell escaping from her throat which was louder than all the others.

Humility and shame was replaced with an ungodly arousal and dare he say pride. He didn't stop moving his fingers until the convulsions stopped and she fell still and quiet.

Then he sat and waited, unsure what to do, listening to her pant and swallow. He thought perhaps he should lay down next to her but hesitated when he realized he had another variable he could explore.

Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about it, at first the idea repelled him actually. But, as with all true experiments, sometimes you had to get dirty.

He resigned himself to the full experience and slowly moved himself into position, lowering his head down and wrapping his arms up under her legs to grip at her thighs.

The smell was exceedingly strong but not unpleasant and after another moment of hesitation he brought his mouth to her heat.

"Sherlock!" Molly shrieked as she jerked violently.

"Afterglow darling, too soon, sensitive...I'm still too sensitive!"

But Sherlock was taken with it, the taste was tangy yet sweet, the smell overwhelming but highly attractive and despite her protests and renewed squirming he held her in place and lapped his tongue from the base of her opening all the way up.

"Oh, please...stop...wait...just- Oh my god!" And she jerked more, fingers threading into his hair and yanking at his head.

He relented only a moment, "Its part of the experiment darling, now lay still. I'll only be a moment." But that was a lie because as he continued to suck and lick, exploring her folds and tasting her sweet juices his mind grew further and further away from focusing on this "experiment" and more focused on torturing the woman before him.

Make her scream your name again, make her cry in adulation, make her lose her mind.

His mouth latched onto her clit, tongue running over it relentlessly as Molly tried to roll away. He released a hip and pressed two fingers back into her womanhood.

Her back arched, body tensed and she orgasmed again, this time yelling expletives and the juices came like flood waters.

He removed his fingers quickly and drank what she gave him, licked and sucked it up, his mind now nothing but a hazy mess with a burning neon red exclamation point like a beacon in the fog.

Her body dropped back to the bed and this time she was gasping. Curious of the strain her body had just gone through he ran a hand up her stomach to find a thin layer of sweat.

"Interesting." He murmured into her soft folds and gave a final lick before raising himself up and moving to crawl over her. He looked down at her and just barely caught the look of a seemingly destroyed woman.

He couldn't stop his hand from reaching out and flicking on the lamp. What he saw surely made his eyes darken as he was greeted by burning red cheeks, eyes dilated to their full extent and lips that were swollen from being bitten. Her face was sweaty, hair sticking to her cheeks and as he gazed down her body and saw it completely for the first time he noticed the erect nipples, the quivering belly and the shaking thighs.

He dragged his eyes back up to her face, brought a hand to cup her cheek, and spoke so softly as he touched his lips to her ear, "What's the next variable Mis. Hooper?"

She continued to pant, trying to speak but could only swallow.

"It seems to me that sexual activities also dull your senses. If an assassin wanted to take you out, post-sexual activity seems to be the best time. You're exhausted, so weak your thigh muscles shake as you try to hold them up. Tell me, how is that a positive?"

"I'm, euphoric...so relaxed and flooded w-with chemicals I can hardly think straight. I feel light...content...happy...worth the chance of an assassination."

Sherlock studied her, believe what she said but he himself had not maintained such a state after his dive between her thighs. His curiosity was not sated so he moved from her ear to her lips, touching them to his gently as he spoke, "What's the next variable, Dr. Hooper?"

She didn't seem able to respond so Sherlock, knowing full well what would be next on the list reached down a hand, coaxed her legs apart and laid down on top of her.

"I am going to proceed with the experiment, can you remain coherent?"

Molly hesitated, her eyes cracking open to look at him, "Can you?"

He gave her a dubious look but didn't hesitate to reach down and position himself at her entrance, the the slick heat kissed the head of his length and he felt his prick twitch.

"That's new...do I need a thing?"

"A what?" Molly managed to ask.

"A thing, a thingy thing...a….rubber?" He asked as he searched his mind for the correct word. That was the only one he could find in regards to what he was talking about, a term John had used once in passing.

"No, on pill...I'm on pill."

He didn't have any data in his hardrive about female pills but assumed she meant she wasn't worried about pregnancy.

He trusted her to be clear minded enough about that and so placed his hands on either side of her face and pressed in.

It was ungodly tight, very wet and the heat was near burning. He gasped despite himself and watched Molly's face as it morphed into something akin to shock.

He felt a surge of pleasure, stronger than the others, stronger than anything he'd felt before. She was small, perhaps to small for him and as he stretched her a rather urgent desire to press harder crawled through his mind.

He obeyed it readily and hitched his hips up against hers, pressing in the rest of the way with an aggressive thrust.

Molly hissed and then whined, "Good?" He asked unsure by her noises what she was indicating.

"Hurt." She said and this made Sherlock pull back a little but her hands flew to his arse and his eyes bulged at the action.

"Why, you said it hurt...let me remove-"

"Pain and pleasure go well together in this scenario, Sherlock, if done properly pain heightens your awareness so you can feel excess pleasure."

"Now that is the most interesting variable so far. Another example, if you would be so kind Dr. Hooper."

She seemed to think a moment and then said, "Bite me gently."

"Beg pardon?" And he knew he sounded confused and slightly put off.

"Bite me, anywhere, nipples, throat, shoulder…"

Sherlock lowered himself to her right nipple and took it into his mouth, his teeth clamping down around the nipple and sucking hard.

Molly jerked and moaned, her muscles constricting around his length and at the sudden change his hips instantly thrust, sending a jolt of electric pleasure up his spin and directly into his brain. Goosebumps exploded over his skin and a rather disturbing voice echoed in his brain a rather disturbing order.

Fuck her you great dumb thing! Fuck her hard!

He shook his head to try and clear it away but it remained where it was in the forefront of his mind urging him to do things that seemed rather cruel and disgusting.

"Sherlock-"

"What?" He snapped as he tried to shake that voice from his mind again.

"Do you happen to have a little voice in your head telling you to do things?" She sounded frustrated and slightly annoyed.

He looked at her with wide eyes and took a breath, " Yes, it is telling me to-"

"Do it, whatever that voice says do it." she whimpered out.

"Are you sure? Its being rather lewd. I don't want to hurt-"

"Do it. Do what the voice tells you." Molly said with confidence and Sherlock swallowed as he complied.

He pulled out and swiftly pushed back in, reaching her end with a grunt. Molly let out a moan and Sherlock did it again, the voice urging him on.

It feels good, really good, just keep fucking her. Fuck her into the mattress!

"You're disgusting." He murmurs.

"W-what?" Molly asked, her voice sounded fearful and shocked.

"N-no, not you, that voice, it's filthy." He growled.

"Good, I like filthy minds." And Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to lay on her.

The feeling of her breasts and skin pressed to his chest was overwhelming and his hips started to move in earnest. His hand ran down her side and reached around to dig nails into her arse and he thrust into her deep, hard and quick.

Her muscles wrapped around his length and created such lurid friction and he started to pant as his mind started to swirl wit all kinds of loose data.

Now, coffin someone is going to die….

It's true, Sherlock, it's always been true….

I'll burn the heart out of you….

Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side…

Sex doesn't alarm me….

How would you know…

She likes you she's out there….an opportunity like this comes around once in a lifetime Sherlock and its gone before you know it…..

Before you know it….

She made me want to be the man she thought I was…

Sherlock growled at the cacophony of stray thoughts, the voices dancing through his brain and causing a shutter as his mind started to run away with him.

Suddenly hands cupped his face and he opened his eyes to look down at the woman below him, "Sherlock, just focus on me, just...just...god focus on m-me."

He did as she said, their eyes locked and neither blinked as he pumped into her, breaths heaving, bodies sweating and at the silencing of his mind and seeing her face so undone the pleasure came forward ten fold. He started to moan with each thrust, Molly's own gasps mixing with his.

The building ach in his gut started to burn and his vocalizing became hoarse and breathy. He kept his eyes glued to hers and could just make out her breasts bouncing in a rhythmic ungulation out of the corner of his eye. As her fingers came up to thread through his curls he lost himself to the feeling of her muscles final swift contraction.

Molly came hard, gripping his length so tight he yelled in shock. Unable to hold himself any longer he came just seconds later, shuddering and moaning as his mind was filled with a searing bright white light and the erotic euphoria flooded his body causing him to thrust into her hard and then freeze.

The sensation of his length pulsing inside her as he emptied his seed caused another few waves of pleasure and he felt as if he had just shot up.

Even though he was inside her to the hilt he thrusted a few more times, making Molly gasp and slide up the bed to bump her head on the headboard.

"S-sorry."

"Fine, all fine." She whispered out.

Sherlock pulled out, shuttering again at the feeling and then laid down slowly next to her. He peered across the space at her silhouette and thought of all the ways he could experiment with her in the future.

She seemed to be taking longer to come down and finally Sherlock understood. He too felt the "afterglow" and it was wonderful. Totally relaxed, mind silent and his curiosity on the matters of sex and the heart finally resolved.

"Bullocks." He said with regret and frustration.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked, peering over at him.

"I suppose. But, it would seem…"

"Yes?" Molly asked with a nervous swallow.

"That I bloody love you."

Molly seemed to splitter a moment due to her exhaustion… or possibly her relief…. he didn't know but seconds later she was laughing...or crying...probably both.

Sherlock could do nothing but roll his eyes, hesitate, and then slowly give a small chuckle in response.

 **A/N: Sorry this story doesn't have a lot of inner conflict and monologue….yeah, not much depth to this one….but it was a very hard piece to write. This gave me particular trouble. I'm playing around too much with my bloody writing. I hope you enjoyed it. Got another coming soon.**


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